


salt, water, my wounds

by retts



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Banter, Community: reel_merlin, Dreams and Nightmares, It's a titanic AU people we all know what happens, M/M, Role Reversal, circa 2010
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-08
Updated: 2020-02-08
Packaged: 2021-02-28 03:22:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 20,321
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22617088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/retts/pseuds/retts
Summary: Despite Merlin's earlier misgivings (he's an utterly rotten sailor; half the time he can't even manage to stay upright on land), there is something magical about the RMS Titanic. She is easily one of the most massive things that Merlin has ever seen and yet there is elegance in the curves of her hull, strength in her keel – the large, beautiful, metal queen of sea and ocean. Merlin leans slightly forward over the railing, hands tightening around the iron bar as he takes in a deep, gratifying breath of salty air. The sea is an incomprehensible stretch of blue, green, and grey that shift and collapse into each other and the sky is a lighter, brighter shade that extends just as wide. Surprisingly, the Titanic is cutting smoothly through the water and Merlin can hardly feel the motion. It's a bit of a relief, really, and a disappointment; he can't use sickness as an excuse to escape his aunt's company.Titanic AU
Relationships: Gwen/Lancelot (Merlin), Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 54
Collections: Reel Merlin





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> so, in 2010, i wrote this little monster for reel_merlin as ohwhimsy over at ye ole LJ. i was stuck for months until two days before the deadline where i wrote feverishly and this was the result. it's always cringey to read my old fics but i've always had a soft spot for this one, which is funny because i totally forgot to post this there until i was thinking about fics i'd written beyond 10k word count. so, here it is. i might edit it later. it's nice to pretend that i've written 20k words for 2020 instead of just reposting old stuff lmao
> 
> expect a lot more of my really old fics to pop up here

  
It takes a while for their entire luggage to be carried onboard; intricately carved trunks and odd-shaped parcels wrapped in paper held between young boys in sailor uniforms. They march through corridors, past wide double-doors that open to ornate rooms so red and gilded that it stifles the breath in Merlin’s lungs. He collapses on one of the armchairs as gracefully as possible – though how one could ever do a clumsy act _elegantly_ is something Morgana is still sceptical about – and removes his top hat. It’s been a long morning and the muscles on his shoulders are tight from the rigid posture he had to adopt for the long ride to the White Star Dock, his aunt’s unwavering gaze eyeing him with disapproval all the while.  
  
Morgana passes in front him, instructing one of the men exactly where to put her precious paintings. A fortune spent on canvas and paint and Merlin will never understand his sister’s preoccupation with art; he’s able to appreciate the beauty evoked by the artist but not with the passion that Morgana has.  
  
“Please, be careful of that one,” says Morgana in that polite but mocking manner singular to her. “It’s one of my new favourites. Remember that man we met in Paris, Gwen? So odd but likeable – and his paintings!” Gwen, her sweet-faced maid, carefully unwraps one of the paintings and turns it over, revealing the image of a middle-aged woman touching the inside of her wrist, done in sharp strokes of brown and neutral colours. Morgana makes an appreciative sound and takes the frame from Gwen. “Isn’t it striking, Merlin?”  
  
Merlin gives her an ignorant smile. “I wouldn’t know. Art isn’t exactly my forte, Morgana.”  
  
“Hm, you’re right,” Morgana says with a fleeting smile thrown at him. “It’s better if you agree with me, dear brother.”  
  
The haughty tones of their aunt float through the open doors and Merlin sighs, tugging on the lapels of his coat and ruefully straightening his spine. Nimueh steps into the sitting room with all the majesty of a young queen and Merlin stifles a smile behind the brim of his hat. Their aunt might be an overbearing witch - Morgana's words, not his - but she's never one to miss an opportunity for a grand entrance even if her audience consists only of her nephew, niece, their servants, and four crewmen who've been ogling Morgana all this time.  
  
Immediately, her gaze finds Merlin and her mouth tightens almost imperceptibly. "Merlin, don't simply sit around and do nothing! We've an entire day to spend on the Promenade deck. Morgana, do pull up your bodice; frankly, it's scandalous how you dress."  
  
Morgana lifts her chin, ever the rebel, her voice arch, "If Merlin and I will only bring you embarrassment, perhaps it's best if we stay in our rooms."  
  
Their aunt lifts a delicate eyebrow, tension running across her brow. “This isn’t an appropriate time and place for such a discussion, Morgana.”  
  
Merlin winces and sees the expected hardening of Morgana’s features. Nothing gets to his sister more than condescension which she, herself, is so good at. All the women in the family, really.  
  
“It’s never the appropriate time for you, Aunt Nimueh, but I’m not one of your puppets. I will speak whatever I want, whenever and wherever I wish. If I had my way, Merlin and I wouldn’t even be in this godforsaken ship!”  
  
"How dare you, after the money I spent to get all of us aboard this ship - "  
  
The crewmen quickly excuse themselves with sly glances and leave. Merlin wishes he could do the same. It is unbearable being surrounded by women all the time, especially ones as volatile as his sister and aunt. Gwen catches his eye and shrugs sympathetically.  
  
Merlin makes a face at her and she smothers a giggle into her palm. Thank God for Gwen; he loves Morgana with all his heart but there’s a sense of tranquility and comfort about Gwen. It's something that Merlin desperately needs these days. He sets aside his hat and literally comes between the two women, placing a comforting hand on Morgana’s arm.  
  
“We haven’t even begun the voyage and you’re already at each other’s throats. Didn’t you two agree on a ceasefire while here?”  
  
Morgana’s eyes the older woman with clear dislike. “It's rather hard to remain composed with intolerable people around - "  
  
Nimueh quickly sidesteps Merlin and grabs Morgana by the elbow, jostling her forward and forcing Merlin a step back. "Watch your tongue, you ungrateful girl," she hisses furiously, her painted fingernails digging into Morgana's skin. "Remember that you and your brother are now under my charge. Remember what your fate would have been if I hadn't taken you in out of the goodness of my heart or if Merlin hadn’t done what he did - "  
  
"Aunt," Merlin cuts in more sharply than he intends. "You're hurting her. Please, let her go. She's sorry. We're both very grateful for your kindness."  
  
Nimueh releases Morgana and moves back, smoothing her dress. "We'll all go to the Promenade deck in a few minutes. Make yourselves presentable." She spins on her heel and disappears into her bedroom. Her maid, Sophia, hurries after her and the doors close at the swish of her dress.  
  
Merlin turns to face Morgana and shakes his head. "Do you need to rile her so often?"  
  
"You know what she's done to mother, the lies she spread," Morgana snaps and lowers her gaze to the painting still in her grip. The woman's hair is dark and her eyes stormy with cynicism, the heavy burden of life riding the bow of her lips.  
  
Something pierces through Merlin, the all too familiar grief, and he grimaces. Maybe it's more than the skill of the paintbrush that had made Morgana purchase the painting. "Mother still wouldn't want you to say those things," he eventually tells her, gently, knowing how his sister is when distraught. "Let's finish putting away your paintings and go for a walk. We all could use the fresh air."  
  
  


  
  
Despite Merlin's earlier misgivings (he's an utterly rotten sailor; half the time he can't even manage to stay upright on land), there is something magical about the RMS Titanic. She is easily one of the most massive things that Merlin has ever seen and yet there is elegance in the curves of her hull, strength in her keel – the large, beautiful, metal queen of sea and ocean. Merlin leans slightly forward over the railing, hands tightening around the iron bar as he takes in a deep, gratifying breath of salty air. The sea is an incomprehensible stretch of blue, green, and grey that shift and collapse into each other and the sky is a lighter, brighter shade that extends just as wide. Surprisingly, the _Titanic_ is cutting smoothly through the water and Merlin can hardly feel the motion. It's a bit of a relief, really, and a disappointment; he can't use sickness as an excuse to escape his aunt's company.  
  
He twists sideways at the ring of Morgana’s laughter and the sound is as mocking as it has always been. She’s surrounded by the other ladies of society, Gwen standing nearby in case her lady needs anything, and Merlin knows that Morgana enjoys the attention as much as she disdains it.  
  
Morgana is a very complex woman.  
  
He turns back to the sea, taking in more of the fresh air. The boat deck is full of people mingling about, children chasing each other and squealing loudly in delight. A smile twitches the corner of his lips when he spies a few boys his age hauling themselves up on the railings, shouting and punching the wind. They look like they’re having fun, friends of a different sort from what Merlin knows, and he props his forearms on the handrail, watching them wistfully.  
  
He thinks back to the celebration at the docks, everyone waving to each other as the _Titanic_ slowly moved away from the harbour. Merlin hadn’t been able to help himself, hand in the air, carried away by the swell of optimism and adventure that lifted the spirits of the passengers the same way the water lifted the grand ship. Nimueh had reprimanded him on the way to their rooms about good behavior while out in public while Merlin felt, for the first time in a long time, buoyed in his heart.  
  
Unfortunately, the feeling did not last for too long.  
  
He’s brought out of his thoughts – rather depressing, which is unusual for Merlin who takes painful steps to think the opposite – by Gwen coming to stand next to him, inhaling the sea air with relish much like Merlin is doing.  
  
“This is an incredible ship, isn’t it?” Gwen says with her exhale, turning happy eyes to Merlin. “I know that Morgana still has doubts about this voyage but I think it’s a good thing. For everybody.” She hesitates, biting her bottom lip and gaze turning shy. “Perhaps starting anew in America is what you and Morgana need to be happy.”  
  
Merlin stares contemplatively below, thinking about Gwen’s words. “I hope you’re right, Gwen. After mother’s death…things will be better for all of us. I’m glad that Morgana fought Aunt Nimueh tooth and nail for you to come with us,” he jokes to lighten the mood, lifting the corner of his mouth in a mischievous, knowing grin. “You’re very important to Morgana, you know.”  
  
Gwen becomes predictably flustered, a blush on her dark cheeks. “What are you – Merlin, that’s not – why are you even _implying_ such a thing!”  
  
“You’re important to me too, Gwen. You’re our oldest, truest _friend_ ,” Merlin adds smoothly, lips curling even more, chuckling as Gwen tries to compose herself.  
  
“I should leave you to Lady Nimueh,” Gwen grumbles but her eyes twinkle good-naturedly. To everyone else, it must be odd to see how familiar Gwen interacts with Merlin. “She’s been observing you all this time and I dare say she wants to lure you in her conversation with those hopeful mamas.”  
  
Merlin looks over his shoulder and as Gwen says, he catches Nimueh’s gaze as she leans closer to the woman next to her, trading whispers and shrewd smiles. He frowns and huffs, running a hand through his hair and adding to the mess the wind has made of it. “I beg you, keep me company,” pleads Merlin mock-seriously, placing a hand over his heart. “I’m not safe with those mamas these days, though I’ve no idea why since I’m – well – undesirable, or so they say.”  
  
“Undesirable?” Gwen wrinkles her nose, looking like she wants to laugh as if it’s just the three of them, childhood friends without the heavy rules of society restraining their joy. “That’s…a funny word for you because you’re not undesirable. You’re…Merlin – not that I’m saying being you is undesirable because it isn't. I mean, it's _not_." Gwen pauses, grimaces, and then adds in a rush, "But I don’t think of you in such a way – oh, um, but I _could?_ I, I could. Because you’re – you’re _desirable_ – ”  
  
Merlin holds up a hand, amusement making his eyes crinkle. "Gwen, stop. Please, stop. I understand what you're trying to say and I'm honoured you think of me as desirable. Truly, I am."  
  
Gwen chuckles, her eyes casting over the deck and lingering. “Why must you tease me so?”  
  
“It’s terribly easy,” Merlin answers and follows her gaze, to the group of boys he’d been watching earlier. One of them is blatantly staring up at them, at Gwen, a young man with a solemn, unusual face. However, it’s the person next to him that seizes Merlin’s attention with shocking ferocity, as if he’s run into a pole with his eyes closed. The man’s hair is windswept, and golden, and even from afar Merlin can tell that he has a strong jaw and confident posture.  
  
“Merlin, Gwen, what is so fascinating that both of you are ignoring my calls?” Morgana asks with slight exasperation, coming to stand on Merlin’s other side and peering down at the deck.  
  
She says nothing for some time and her prolonged silence makes Merlin tear his eyes away – the blond tosses his head back and laughs, clapping his companion on the back, and then his eyes abruptly fasten to where Merlin is standing – and all thoughts are pushed to the back when he sees Morgana’s wide eyes, her pale face. Her fingers tremble before tightening around the handrail.  
  
Concern has Merlin reaching out to her. “Morgana, what’s the matter? Are you all right?” Gwen instantly rushes to Morgana’s side, brows knitted as she repeats Merlin’s words.  
  
Morgana lifts unfocused eyes to Merlin before she gives a little start, clarity coming back to her face. “Oh, I,” she says softly, lowering her eyes once more and visibly trying to regain control of herself. Her fingers uncurl from the handrail and removes her hand altogether. “I’m all right,” Morgana eventually says in a stronger voice, giving Merlin and Gwen a reassuring smile. “Really, you don’t need to worry. I just…had an upsetting thought but it’s nothing.”  
  
“Are you certain, my lady? Perhaps a little rest can help,” Gwen suggests with a troubled touch to Morgana’s hand.  
  
Morgana smiles sweetly at her and pats the hand over hers. “I’m perfectly fine, Gwen. As I said, nothing but a bad thought. I’ve been having a lot of those recently and all of them have something to do with Aunt Nimueh, curiously. Now, let’s finish this useless walk and have a bit of a snack, shall we?” She curls her arm through Merlin’s and leads them forward.  
  
Merlin shares a doubtful look with Gwen but goes along with his sister. There’s no reasoning with Morgana and the best thing to do is give her time until she tells them what’s bothering her.  
  
Morgana is cheerfully chatting about the latest gossip – she calls it mindless drivel but entertaining, nonetheless – and Merlin glances over his shoulder one last time only to find that the blond man and his friends are no longer there. Disappointment fizzes in his throat and Merlin swallows, turning his head away when Morgana insistently demands his attention.  
  
  


  
_It is so cold the wind bites and cuts as they run and slip up the deck a deep groan reverberates through the ship as if it is in unspeakable pain they feel a shudder under their feet and they stop breathe and it’s as if everything stops with them the cries the shouts the splash of oars on water all is silent their hands grip tight sweaty and frigid there is a sharp crack that seems to last forever slowly the ship trembles cries once more and suddenly motion returns life in desperate strides to the very front of the ship as the Titanic sinks hull lifting to the sky as if seeking for mercy_

The pounding footsteps shake Arthur from his half-sleep and he opens his eyes to see the flash of a nightgown from the corner of his eye. He leans forward, swiping a heel over his eyes, and blinks to clear his vision. There is a woman running towards the back of the ship, her body tilting sideways and hair streaming in the glacial wind. Arthur watches her for a bemused moment, blowing at his fingers and rubbing them to ward off the evening chill, when the woman gives a horrified cry and stumbles to her knees. She looks over her shoulder and Arthur is jolted to his feet by the sight of her face: it is the beautiful brunette from this morning, only her haughty expression is replaced by stark terror.  
  
She stands up, sways, and heads for the the railing. Arthur runs after her, heart pounding at the possibility that she might jump, when the woman starts climbing up the rails. Her footing is shaky and Arthur shouts in alarm, making a leap for it and grabbing the loose fabric of her dress. The sudden contact makes her scream and her foot slips and suddenly she’s listing forward and Arthur pulls her back with all the strength he possesses. They stagger backwards, her arms flailing to hit his chest, the side of his head, his back.  
  
“Hey, hey, relax,” Arthur insists as he wraps an arm around her waist while his other hand goes to grab her wrists. “I’ve got you, calm down. You’re all right.”  
  
She angles her head back, all her hair following the movement to reveal eyes dilated and hazy, full of bright fear.  
  
“Shhhhh,” he says, heart thudding from the adrenaline. Her expression wrenches something in his chest. “You’re okay, you’re safe.”  
  
Slowly she stops struggling and clarity returns to her eyes, which sweep across his face and Arthur can’t describe the look that comes to her features. They stare at each other for a tense moment before she finally glances down at the position they are in, Arthur pinning her down with his weight. Arthur’s gaze follows and accidentally land on the flesh above the neckline of her nightgown and he reacts as if scalded, drawing back hastily.  
  
“I, uh, let me help you up.” Arthur holds out a hand, feeling foolish and unexpectedly prickly when the woman only stares at it before gracefully coming to her feet, ignoring his offer altogether. He frowns, arm dropping to his side. Her silence is unnerving; so is the strain in her posture, tilting away from Arthur purposefully as if it is him that she is wary of. It’s ridiculous, and insulting, considering they’ve never met before and he just saved her life.  
  
“I’m Arthur, by the way,” he introduces with a bite in his voice.  
  
The woman hesitates, arms coming across her chest, and suddenly there is a vulnerability to her that soothes Arthur’s annoyance. What a complicated woman.  
  
“Oi, what’s going on here?” a loud voice interrupts as two sailors approach them, frowning as they take in the scene.  
  
Arthur notices the way she stiffens even more, a delicate shudder up her spine, and feels slightly guilty when he realises she must be cold. He quickly removes his jacket and drops it over her shoulders, earning an incomprehensible look for his effort.  
  
Finally, her head dips in acknowledgment. “Thank you,” and somehow it encompasses more than the jacket. She turns to the two crewmembers and it’s as if she’s stepping into a role, one that is superior and diffident.  
  
“Is everything all right, ma’am?” one of the sailors ask, eyes fixed on Arthur with suspicion. The other sailor, however, is too busy openly staring at her. “Is he bothering you?”  
  
“Not at all,” the woman replies briskly, tossing her head back and looking unconcerned that she’s surrounded by three strangers in nothing but her nightdress.  
  
“Lady Morgana!” A young woman with curly hair is running towards them and Arthur recognises her as the one Lance had been mooning over. Distress is clear on her face as she takes in the brunette’s – Morgana, notes Arthur – state of dress. “Oh you’re, your bed was empty and I couldn’t find you! I thought – did they, are you,” she breaks off abruptly, hands tugging to pull off the robe she’s wearing and Morgana moves forward, stilling her movements.  
  
“Gwen, don’t,” Morgana says sternly. “It’s cold out here. I’m perfectly well, as you can see.”  
  
“You’re shivering,” Gwen points out. “Please, Lady Morgana.”  
  
Morgana shakes her head. “I’m fine,” she insists, reaching up to tug on Arthur’s jacket. “This lovely gentleman over here,” a vague wave in Arthur’s direction, “has kindly offered me the use of his coat.”  
  
“But what are you doing out here?” she asks, bewildered, the very question that Arthur has wanted to voice out.  
  
Morgana smiles and pats the other’s hand. “I was out for a walk, Gwen. I couldn’t sleep.”  
  
“A walk at this time of night?” Arthur cuts in with a disbelieving laugh. “Dressed like that?” _And looking scared shitless?_  
  
“ _Yes_ ,” she says sharply but keeps her gaze steadily on Gwen. “That is what happened.”  
  
Gwen bites her lip but doesn’t say anything. The sailor scratched the back of his head. “So everything’s really all right, then? ‘Cause if it’s not, then we’ll have to report this to the captain.”  
  
“There’s no need for that,” Morgana assures him with a quicksilver smile. “But thank you for your concern.” And to Gwen, “Let’s return to our rooms, shall we?”  
  
“What about his, er,” Gwen glances at Arthur bemusedly.  
  
Arthur catches sight of her hesitation as Morgana turns her face away. “Oh, yes, well. If you could come to my rooms tomorrow, I’d gladly return it.”  
  
Then she walks away, back to the direction she’d come from, and Gwen faces Arthur and hastily adds, “I’m not sure what happened but I feel as if you should come. Tomorrow, I mean. For your coat and maybe some tea. I’m certain you did something to help her and Merlin would like to thank you, that is. He’s her – ” Gwen looks over her shoulder. “Well, I better go, and,” she impulsively grabs one of Arthur’s hands and pumps it. “I’m Guinevere, by the way.”  
  
“Arthur,” he says with deep amusement, thinking of Lancelot.  
  
Gwen blushes and nods. “Tomorrow, please, at the Bridge Deck.”  
  
Then she spins on her heel and races after her lady, who is waiting for her by the entrance to the ship.  
  
Arthur stares after them before turning to the sailors and quirking a brow. “Quite a night, isn’t it?”  
  
\- Lancelot and Gawain are playing a game of poker and from the look on Lancelot’s face, he is failing miserably. The other man could never keep his emotions from showing; Arthur likes that about him.  
  
“And where have you been?” Gawain asks without looking at him, grinning roguishly at Lancelot. “I’m trouncing poor Lancelot here. He’s got the worst poker face I’ve ever seen.”  
  
“I’m not that bad,” Lancelot defends as he picks another card from the deck. He turns it over and his face falls. “This game hates me, is all.”  
  
Arthur tumbles into the lower bunk, arms behind his head. “I rescued a woman tonight, Morgana.”  
  
They both turn to look at him with varying degrees of disbelief.  
  
“You did not,” Gawain immediately says. “You probably defiled the lass when her mama’s back was turned.”  
  
Arthur snorts. “I think you’re referring to yourself, Gawain.”  
  
“Did you really save her?” Lancelot asks curiously and a little bit of hope in his voice. He’s always been fond of the tales of knights and their ladies in distress. He wants to be one, Arthur knows, which is why Lancelot is the way he is. Arthur can say that Lancelot has a true and chivalrous heart without any irony at all.  
  
“Yes, she was ready to jump off the ship, that woman we saw earlier at the bridge,” Arthur adds.  
  
Gawain scoffs. “Why would a girl like that try to jump? She’s got everything she could possibly want in life.”  
  
“We don’t know anything about her life,” Lancelot says in defense to a woman he doesn’t even know. “Maybe it’s not as grand as we all think.”  
  
The truth is that Arthur doesn’t believe that Morgana had been trying to kill herself. Somehow, it doesn’t suit her. He remembers the terror that drove her to flee from whatever chased after her, had her climbing the rails. It’s as if she’d been fighting for her life instead of seeking to end it. That unfocused look in her eyes – as if she’d been dreaming.  
  
A hand on his shoulder startles him from his thoughts and Arthur looks at Lancelot. “Right,” he says, rubbing a hand over his brow. “You were saying?”  
  
“I said, is she all right now?” Lancelot repeats, glancing back at Gawain who’s reaching for the deck. He narrows his eyes at the other man, trying to read his expression, but Gawain maintains a straight face.  
  
“Yeah. She has my coat, though, and I’m heading to first class tomorrow to retrieve it.” A memory sparks. “Oh, that’s right, I also met Guinevere.”  
  
“Guinevere?” Lancelot is distracted, staring intently at his fan of cards.  
  
“She goes by Gwen, I suppose. That’s what Morgana called her. You know, pretty with massive curly hair.”  
  
This garners Lancelot’s full attention and his arm lowers, cards spreading as his grip loosens. “Guinevere. The one with the bloke?”  
  
Arthur takes a wild guess. “That would be Merlin, Morgana’s…something. But yes, Guinevere, lovely woman; her concern for her mistress was touching.”  
  
Gawain takes another card but Lancelot barely even notices. “Tomorrow, you say?”  
  
Arthur hums in agreement, trying not to laugh.  
  
“Perhaps…perhaps you could use the company?” Lancelot offers, staring intently at his blond friend.  
  
  


  
  
_Dearest Merlin,  
  
I keep thinking about the time we spent together that I’ve been quite distracted lately. I’m no use to anyone. Mother thinks it’s sweet while father hasn’t made up his mind about it yet.  
  
_

With a sigh, Merlin slumps in his chair and stares at the ceiling, the letter hanging limply in his grip. He’s read it numerous times, made true by the creases and folds all over, and there are times Merlin wants to throw it away. But he shouldn’t and he doesn’t.  
  
The sudden noises from the other room, Morgana’s, make him sit up straighter - the soft whisper of voices and _tap tap tap_ of footsteps. He folds the paper and drops it into one of the side drawers, amongst other stacks of letters in the same curving longhand. He unbuttons his jacket and drapes it over the back of a chair, folding the sleeves of the crisp white shirt up to his forearms.  
  
“Morgana?” he calls quietly, rapping his knuckles twice on the door.  
  
He waits for a while, eyebrows lifting as he hears the whispering take an urgent tone, before the door finally opens revealing a somewhat harried-looking Gwen with wisps of curly hair escaping its usual clasp. “Is everything all right?” Merlin asks hesitantly, peering over Gwen’s head to look inside.  
  
“Oh, oh yes.” Gwen clears her throat, hands fluttering over her skirts. “And yourself?”  
  
“Excellent,” Merlin says in bafflement. “Erm, may I come in?”  
  
Clearly, Gwen isn’t expecting that and she bellies her nervousness by glancing over her shoulder. “Lady Morgana is asleep. Yes. She’s just about to sleep, that is.”  
  
Merlin frowns, eyeing her closely. He can tell she’s lying because Gwen can barely meet his eyes; her hands are restless and there’s a slight flush to her cheeks. “Guinevere,” he says slowly, “are you lying to me? Because I know when you lie and it’s really rather obvious.”  
  
“It’s fine, Gwen,” Morgana’s voice comes from inside the bedroom. “Let him in.”  
  
Gwen looks over her shoulder once more and nods, stepping aside to let Merlin through. He spots his sister in front of the mirror, brushing her dark hair repeatedly. Their eyes meet in the glass and Morgana smiles.  
  
“Turning in early tonight?”  
  
Merlin sits on the edge of her bed with a shrug. “It was an exciting day. I’m surprised Aunt Nimueh let you out of her clutches; she’s been eager to introduce you to the eligible men in the ship.”  
  
Morgana snorts, trying to smoothen out a stubborn tangle. “Yes, that would twist Valiant’s knickers nicely."  
  
“He is following you all the way across the Atlantic,” Merlin points out with a slight frown, thinking of the man that their aunt has been forcing on Morgana for the longest time. Even after the deal they’ve struck, Nimueh is still hopeful for a match between them. “ _Why_ is he following you all the way across the Atlantic?”  
  
Morgana sighs dramatically and hands the brush to Gwen, who puts it away. “Who knows what Aunt Nimueh told him and she’s managed to bring him along. He’s like an annoying insect always hovering about. Isn’t he, Gwen?”  
  
“He is always around,” she agrees with a tilt of her head. Gwen would never explicitly express her dislike of anyone, especially those who are supposedly superior to her. Merlin thinks Gwen is better than most people in the world.  
  
“Well, if he gives either of you trouble,” Merlin tells them gravely, “you come to me and I’ll take care of it.”  
  
Morgana laughs and ambles to the bed, carefully sitting next to her brother. She shares an amused glance with Gwen. “Really, Merlin, and how will you do that? You’re positively harmless!”  
  
“I can be intimidating,” he protests indignantly. “And I’m tall!”  
  
Morgana pats him on the shoulder. “But Valiant is built like one of those Greek statues. I’ll give him that, at least.”  
  
“What a supportive sister you are,” Merlin says wryly and enjoys the tinkling laugh Morgana gives.  
  
They fall silent for a while, watching each other, and Morgana’s eyes slip down, a tiny pucker forming between her brows, fingers tugging restlessly on the bedcovers. Gwen sits in front of the dresser, eyeing Morgana uneasily, and Merlin has enough.  
  
“So, will I have to guess what is going on?” Merlin starts with a little hand gesture. “Or will one of you tell me?”  
  
Morgana’s lips quirk humourlessly but she doesn’t meet Merlin’s gaze. “There’s nothing wrong; as you said, it’s been an exciting day and I think it’s time for me to get to bed –”  
  
“Morgana has been having nightmares again,” Gwen suddenly bursts out before staring contritely at Morgana whose expression has gone tight with anger. “I’m sorry but I, I thought it best if Merlin knew about tonight.”  
  
“What happened tonight?” Merlin questions just as Morgana draws her shoulders up tightly, spine straight, and turns livid eyes at Gwen.  
  
Morgana ignores him and says, “I asked you not to say anything. You, Gwen, I _trusted_ you to keep this in confidence.”  
  
For a moment, Gwen looks stricken before it melts into determination, meeting Morgana’s gaze frankly. “I truly am sorry, my lady, but I did it for…you could have been hurt or, or worse, and if I keep it from Merlin then it could happen again. Please, Morgana,” she implores with one hand curled in a tight fist, eyes beseeching.  
  
“How _dare_ you -” Morgana breathes out in such a fury that it is surprising because it’s for _Gwen_ , of all people. “If you wanted to do something for me then you should have just kept your mouth shut.”  
  
“Stop,” Merlin interrupts sharply, disbelief clear on his face. “What _is_ going on between you two? Morgana, Gwen.”  
  
Morgana says nothing, keeping her glare on Gwen all the while, and the other woman flinches, deflates a little. Gwen takes a deep breath and she clasps her hands together, torn, and then meets Merlin’s questioning eyes.  
  
“Lady Morgana had a nightmare,” Gwen begins only to be cut off by Morgana’s biting call of “Guinevere!” and she falters for a moment. Her gaze flickers to her mistress before returning to Merlin and she goes on, shakily, “A nightmare that had her wandering the deck still in its grip and she nearly, she almost…”  
  
Merlin doesn’t immediately understand and he looks between Gwen’s pale face to Morgana’s tight-lipped one. His sister has been having nightmares since she was young; the most awful things that no one should ever see, least of all an innocent little girl whose only joy was to bully her younger brother. Nightmares that frighten Merlin because they rob Morgana of peace and rest; terrifying her to the point of irrationality because she is convinced they will come true in time. She doesn’t share the details but the hollow look in her eyes, and the things she mutters while in the clutches of a nightmare, reveal more than Morgana intends.  
  
But it has been a long time since her last nightmare, since their mother’s death two years ago, in fact.  
  
His gaze fixes on Morgana, unrelenting. “What happened?” he asks again, calmly, while dread pools low in his stomach.  
  
Morgana lifts her chin defiantly. “It was nothing. I was… walking around, is all. Now, I am very tired and if you two are done being upset over this ridiculous thing, then I’ll be heading to bed. Guinevere, I don’t need you tonight.”  
  
Merlin reaches out as she prepares to stand, his fingers splayed over her fine wrist. Her skin is cold. “ _Morgana_.”  
  
She wrenches her hand away, cradling it to her chest. “It was just…will you let it be? It was just a silly thing and I could have been in danger but it didn’t happen. Please, I am tired.”  
  
Merlin keeps quiet, watching the rigid set of his sister’s shoulders, slightly hunched in defense, and the fight drains out of him. The worry remains, though.  
  
“All right,” he agrees and gets to his feet. “Goodnight, Morgana.”  
  
She gives him a brittle smile and turns away, pulling back the bedcovers. Gwen steps forward to help her but then hesitates, watching how Morgana averts her face, and Gwen hides the tremor of her hands in her skirts, giving a deep curtsy before filing out of Morgana’s room and into Merlin’s.  
  
Once the door is firmly shut, Gwen sags against the wall in despair. “She’s furious. She’ll never forgive me.”  
  
Merlin hates to see Gwen in such a state. “She will, of course she will. Morgana will be unable to resist you because it’s _you_ Gwen. You know that.”  
  
Gwen gives a little shake of her head, eyes downcast. “She didn’t tell me much,” Gwen says instead, pushing away from the wall to straighten herself. “Only that she had that sort of nightmare, terrible enough to have hr running on deck for her life. I don’t understand why this is happening again. Merlin, you should have seen her, dressed only in her nightgown and surrounded by three men – ”  
  
“ _What?_ ” Merlin exclaims, disbelief on his face before it gives way to anger. “Did they _do_ anything to her?”  
  
Gwen lifts a hand to placate him. “Morgana claims that one of them – his name is Arthur Pendragon – saved her. From what, she didn’t tell me and acted as if there was nothing wrong, but her hands…she was trembling. At first, I thought it was from the cold but she had that look in her eye, the one she gets when she’s…unwell.”  
  
Merlin begins to pace, agitated, and he runs a hand through his hair. They should have left this behind, a grisly facet of their old life to be forgotten as they start anew. He remembers long nights by Morgana’s bedside, keeping quiet vigil as she struggled against the monsters in her sleep, unable to awaken. He remembers the bruise-coloured shadows of the tender skin beneath Morgana’s eyes and the sharp jut of bones when she had been too anxious to eat, believing the truth of her own nightmares.  
  
“Merlin?”  
  
He doesn’t want Morgana or Gwen or even Aunt Nimueh to go through this again but he feels the same helplessness weigh him down with the knowledge that he hadn’t been able to help his sister then. Merlin can hardly meet the trust in Gwen’s eyes, always there despite his failures.  
  
“We should rest for the night,” Merlin finally speaks, unwilling to let Gwen worry further, not while Morgana’s anger still lingers. “Perhaps it’ll just be this one nightmare and tomorrow things will be better. It’s a brand new day and all that.”  
  
Gwen looks doubtful and Merlin can’t blame her. How many times has he give then same hollow promise in the past? Eventually Gwen’s posture loosens and she sighs, a heavy sound. “I hope you are right. Oh, and I told the man who rescued Lady Morgana, Arthur, to come by tomorrow for the coat he lent her,” Gwen informs him and there’s something in her tone that Merlin can’t make sense of. She’s looking at him strangely, in better spirits than a minute ago. “I thought you would like to meet him as well.”  
  
“Yes, thank you,” Merlin says, puzzled. “Of course I would.”  
  
  
  


  
The morning light slants on the ocean surface, which seems like an endless stretch of perfect dark glass until the _Titanic_ cuts through it. Merlin shields his eyes with a hand, expression troubled. Morgana had been cold and indifferent to both of them at breakfast, causing Aunt Nimueh to ask questions all throughout the meal. She’d been dissatisfied with Merlin’s answers but refrained from saying anything more. But Merlin is more worried about his sister, who refused to speak with him, sweeping away with Valiant when he came for a social call and leaving Gwen behind.  
  
“She’s still mad,” Gwen says as she follows after Merlin, unable to completely hide her unease. “Not that I thought she would forgive me so quickly but Lady Morgana didn’t even look at me, not once.”  
  
“You know how she is,” Merlin tells her gently, lowering his hand with a frown. “Morgana is fiercely protective of her privacy, even from us, though I am glad you still told me.”  
  
Gwen fiddles with the large collar of the coat she is carrying, carefully pressed and folded. “I don’t regret it but I wished she would…” She looks around her, at the well-dressed men and women roaming the deck in their fine clothes and sparkling jewelry. “I’m sorry; I’m speaking out of line.”  
  
Merlin merely waves a hand. “Never, Gwen, but let us talk about this later. Now, what does this Arthur Pendragon look like?”  
  
What could be a sly look crosses Gwen’s face but that’s impossible; Gwen is much too honest to be devious. Her gaze slips past his shoulder and widens and Merlin turns around. Merlin immediately sees him, the blond from yesterday striding across the deck as if he belongs here. The wind sweeps back his golden hair, eyes crinkled against the sun, and he angles his head as he says something to his companion, the same dark-haired man who’d been staring earnestly at Gwen.  
  
“Oh,” Gwen murmurs.  
  
“That’s Arthur?” Merlin asks, dragging his eyes away to glance at Gwen. “The, erm, blond one?”  
  
“Yes, he’s the one,” Gwen answers with a quick drag of her hand over the front of her skirt.  
  
Merlin isn’t sure of what to say or do – should he greet the man formally? thank him for saving his sister and leave? stay with him? where will he put his hands? – and so he stands somewhat stiffly next to Gwen.  
  
Arthur – for his name is Arthur and Merlin has always liked that name, really – and his friend stops in front of them. Merlin tries not to stare at the golden hair falling in a disheveled sweep over his forehead, and his eyes are strikingly blue, his features perfectly made.  
  
Gwen subtly elbows Merlin in the ribs and he steps forward, remembering himself. “My name is Merlin Emrys and Gwen told me that you saved my sister last night.” He holds out his hand automatically and Arthur eyes him dubiously before reaching out to grasp Merlin’s hand, and when he does, it feels like a jolt through his system.  
  
“So you’re her brother?” Arthur says as he pulls back his hand. “You two don’t look much alike. You’ve got horrendous ears, for instance.”  
  
“Arthur!” Lancelot hisses.  
  
“It’s true, Lancelot,” the blond continues with a lazy smile. “I didn’t get a clear view of them yesterday but now…”  
  
“Oh, Lancelot,” Gwen murmurs to herself and blushes when the said man turns to her in blatant wonder.  
  
It’s as if the illusion shatters, the perfect image in Merlin’s head cracking to pieces when it turns out that this Arthur is an utter arse. Merlin looks at him, bringing all that condescension he’s learnt from his sister to the fore. “You’re talking out of line, Mr. – what is it again? Prat, is it?”  
  
“Pendragon,” Arthur replies as the smirk slowly falls off his face.  
  
“Yes, Mr. Pendragon,” Merlin says with all the disdain he can put in his voice. Inside, though, he is weeping over the loss of his fantasy. “Well, I thank you again for your assistance. Gwen, would you kindly give back his coat? It was…very nice to meet you and your friend.”  
  
Gwen stares bemusedly at him before handing over the cleanly pressed coat to Arthur. “Um, we really are very grateful for your help last night, Mr. Pendragon,” she says, eyes flickering to Lancelot.  
  
Merlin cocks his eyebrow at Arthur and smiles coolly. “We’ll be seeing you around, then.”  
  
He turns around and walks away, Gwen following after him, when Arthur’s amused tone speaks up, “Aren’t you going to show me around your lovely first class deck, Mr. Emrys? I thought the upper class had better manners than that.”  
  
Merlin freezes, appalled and secretly thrilled at the gall of the man, and faces Arthur Pendragon.  
  
“Merlin?” Gwen asks uncertainly.  
  
Merlin touches her hand briefly. “Gwen, why don’t you and Lancelot find something to do? I simply _must_ show Mr. Pendragon around the Promenade Deck.”  
  
Gwen shoots him a look before complying with a small curtsy, shyly leading Lancelot away. The man follows her dutifully, not even bothering to give Arthur a last glance.  
  
Arthur snorts, coming closer to Merlin. “The man is besotted, though I can understand why.”  
  
Merlin tries not to let his scowl show through, keeping the polite smile stretched on his face. “Gwen is off limits, I’m afraid.”  
  
“Oh, do you have a thing for servants, Merlin?”  
  
He gives the blond a withering stare. “No, she is one of my dearest friends, but I don’t have to tell you anything. Come on, then, I don’t have all day to entertain you.”  
  



	2. Chapter 2

  
The first thing Arthur notices about him – well, after the ears which really are unnecessarily large – is the high cheekbones. Merlin Emrys has an oddly-made face, nothing but angles and big blue eyes and a lovely mouth that is currently scowling at him. Merlin wasn’t anything to look at the previous day but Arthur has to admit that he is as striking as his sister, only in a different way. Morgana is beautiful in the way that women in classical portraits are beautiful but Merlin has an interesting face, a face that would be challenging to draw.  
  
They are strolling through the Promenade Deck with the other first-class passengers and Arthur admires the fancy gowns in every colour and shade. Merlin is as well-dressed as any of them, wearing a stiff, rounded shirt collar and pressed trousers, the buttons on his vest arranged in a v-shape. He is hatless, though, his dark hair gleaming in the morning light. He is tall, a few inches taller than Arthur, and is almost unflatteringly thin.   
  
“Why are you staring at me?” Merlin asks in an exasperated tone.  
  
“It’s the ears,” Arthur promptly answers and enjoys the way the blue eyes flash. “So, where is that gorgeous sister of yours?”   
  
Merlin holds himself higher, trying to look down on him. “She’s busy with something.”  
  
“Hm,” Arthur says.   
  
They walk in silence and Arthur notices how Merlin keeps sneaking glances at him, trying to be inconspicuous about it but failing.   
  
“Now you’re the one staring,” Arthur points out with a grin. “It’s rude, you know.”   
  
Red splashes on Merlin’s cheekbones and Arthur finds it strangely charming. “I, I wasn’t staring at you. How dare you imply such a thing,” Merlin adds belatedly, the embarrassment clearer in his voice than anger.   
  
Arthur chuckles. “Yes and you’re like a girl, too.”   
  
“My god, why did Morgana have to be rescued by an arse like you?” Merlin mutters regretfully, eyes looking heavenward. “I would have preferred that Lancelot fellow. He seems like a much nicer person than you.”   
  
“He is,” Arthur answers honestly. “The best kind of person there is.”   
  
Merlin pauses for a moment, giving him a sidelong glance. “He and Gwen are a pair, then. She’s a saint.”   
  
Arthur nonchalantly twirls his book in his hands and it catches Merlin’s attention. “What’s that?” the other man asks curiously.   
  
“Nothing you’d want to see.”   
  
Merlin gives him an annoyed look and snatches it from Arthur’s hands, flipping it open. “I already said you can’t talk to me that way, didn’t I? What is in here, anyway? I’m certain they’re full of pratly things…” His voice trails off as he takes in the sketches in every page, all done in charcoal and dark shadows, faces of all the people that Arthur as met. “This is…this is really good, Arthur,” Merlin finally says, using his first name out of the blue, and lingers on the drawing of a naked woman staring smokily from the page.   
  
“It’s nothing,” Arthur says with a shrug, but inwardly he feels a strange glow of pride in his chest. The admiration is clear on Merlin’s face, lips curled in a smile instead of a frown, and Arthur can’t look away.   
  
Merlin looks at him, earnest this time, and it reminds Arthur of Lancelot. “No, you have real talent. I can’t even draw a straight line.”   
  
Arthur’s lips quirk. “You’re a great fan of the arts, then?”   
  
“My sister is,” Merlin corrects him, flipping through the rest of the pages. “She would love to see this.”   
  
Arthur thinks of Morgana during that brief moment where she’d looked at him as if he was the last thing she wanted to see. “I doubt it.”   
  
Merlin gives him an odd look but returns to studying his sketches. “Who are these people?”   
  
“The ones I’ve met,” Arthur replies with another shrug. “I don’t have a home anymore and I travelled across Europe before deciding to head to America for a fresh start. Lancelot calls it my unquenchable wanderlust.”   
  
Merlin traces the intricate lines of the Eiffel Tower. “You get around for a p-p – ”  
  
“A poor person,” Arthur finishes with an amused laugh. “Yeah, I guess I do.”  
  
  
  
  
  
He has a faint smile on his face as he enters the stateroom. The day hadn’t been as dreadful as he’d feared. Despite their initial meeting, Arthur proved to be unfairly charming and an utter prat at the same time. Merlin spent the entire morning alternating from annoyed to amused to catching himself staring too long at Arthur’s face.   
  
“Where have you been?” Morgana asks, sitting on the couch with a book opened on her lap.   
  
Merlin lowers himself on the chair across from her, smiling. “You’re talking to me again?”   
  
Morgana closes her book and places a hand on top of the cover. “It dawned on me that talking only to Aunt Nimueh or Valiant will drive me mad.”   
  
“Well, I’m glad you realised that,” Merlin says. “As for where I’ve been, I was with Mr. Pendragon.”   
  
“Who?”   
  
Merlin gives her a funny look. “The man who saved you last night.”   
  
Morgana’s face freezes and something like terror passes over her. “You…met him?”   
  
“Yes, he was a prat,” Merlin says with a smile. “But I think a good one, if that makes sense.”   
  
Morgana drops her book beside her. “You can’t see him again,” she says suddenly, staring intently at her brother.   
  
“What?” Merlin laughs incredulously.   
  
“You heard me,” Morgana snaps with genuine anger and Merlin stares at her, perplexed. “He isn’t fit for company, Merlin.”   
  
“Why are you saying this?” Merlin asks, placing his hands on his knees and leaning forward. “Is it because he’s not like us? Morgana, this isn’t like you at all. What’s the matter?”   
  
Morgana abruptly stands up. “Nothing but I don’t want you to see him ever again, all right, Merlin?”   
  
She spins on her heel and heads for her room, leaving behind Merlin to stare after her in amazement.   
  
  


  
Dinner is a tense affair. Merlin still can’t understand what has gotten into his sister. She has been acting bizarrely since last week, ever since Aunt Nimueh told them they’d be boarding the Titanic for America. She’s been more volatile than usual and prone to sudden outbursts of temper.   
  
The delicate clink of metal on china and the soft murmur of conversation fill up the air in the diningroom. Merlin sits on his Aunt’s right side with Morgana on his other side. Nimueh is talking quietly with Lady Elizabeth Marshall about the new fashion rage in Paris and Morgana offers her opinion now and then, speaking more to their Aunt in one meal than for an entire week. She is obviously ignoring him and Merlin doesn’t mind because it gives him reason to contemplate his sister’s behaviour without interruption.   
  
But as the night goes on, Merlin begins feeling stifled. Morgana is still giving her attention to everyone but Merlin and Nimueh has started to notice. She is watching them like a hawk while pretending to be as engaged in conversation as ever. She laughs softly at whatever Lady Marshall has said but to Merlin it sounds like ‘You and I will have a long talk later.’  
  
Merlin wishes Gwen is here but she’d asked permission to dine with Lancelot tonight. Morgana had pretended not to care but Merlin clearly saw how affected she was. He’s troubled, as well, because Gwen has always stayed by Morgana’s side but he simply can’t order her to stay away. But this unexpected development has deepened Morgana’s resentment, another thing to add to Merlin’s list of worries.   
  
He wants to go back to his room and unwind. He wants to leave the stuffy atmosphere and breathe in the fresh air outside. He wants to remove his jacket and unbutton his shirt. He wants to be anywhere but here at the moment.   
  
Morgana gives a high, chiming laugh that sets Merlin’s teeth on edge and he picks up his napkin, dabs his mouth, and drops it on the table. “Excuse me,” Merlin says respectfully, pushing back his chair to stand.  
  
“Where are you going?” Nimueh asks, craning her neck to look up at him.   
  
“For some air,” Merlin explains with a polite smile. Her eyes narrow. “I’ll be back soon.”   
  
He quickly makes his way out of the diningroom and on top of the grand staircase. He stares up at the bright chandelier in the middle, lost in thought.   
  
“Going somewhere?”   
  
Merlin whirls around to see Arthur leaning casually on the clock, arms crossed loosely over his chest and wearing a smirk.   
  
“What are you doing here?” Merlin blurts out before grimacing. “I’m sorry, I meant to say – ”  
  
“What I’m doing here,” Arthur mimics good-naturedly and pushed away from the clock. “Fetching you, of course.”   
  
Merlin is already inching forward, forgetting about Morgana’s words. “But why?”   
  
“Because Gwen is having a brilliant time and mentioned how you must be feeling trapped in your fancy dinner,” Arthur says and crooks a finger at him. “Now come on, I’ll show you a good time.”  
  
  


  
  
The dining room is a mess, chairs overturned and alcohol overflowing on the floor. The piano and violin come together to make a lively ditty that people are dancing to, in the middle of the room, laughing and lifting their arms up in the air, whooping at each other drunkenly.   
  
Merlin is staring in amazement at the chaos, lips pulled in a wide grin. “Uh, this is unbelievable.”   
  
Arthur beams at him and leads him to a table in the corner where it’s quieter, but not much, and Gwen is there, sitting next to Lancelot, talking to each other above the noise. Merlin’s steps falter for a moment when he sees the way the two are looking at each other, as if there is no one else in the room, and it’s different from the way Gwen looks at Morgana. More dangerous, more enthralled…  
  
“Look who got lost and wandered in here,” Arthur says and pushes Merlin down on a chair. The blond snags a tankard from a roaming waitress and plops it in front of Merlin, ale sloshing on the table.   
  
Gwen startles and straightens, pulling back from Lancelot a little. “Merlin,” she says in surprise, nervously tucking a strand of hair behind one ear. Her face is flushed, eyes unable to meet his. “I…you’re here, not that you can’t be here or that you wouldn’t want to be here. It’s just, you’re supposed to be with Morgana and, and you’re here instead.”   
  
“A great talker, she is,” Arthur says in amusement, picking up Merlin’s cup and drinking from it.   
  
“Yeah,” Merlin murmurs, distracted by the other man’s Adam’s apple bobbing as he drinks. “Fancy dinners are overrated.”   
  
He takes the tankard from Arthur’s hand and closes his mouth exactly where Arthur’s lips had been, watching as Arthur pauses, looking back at him with raised eyebrows. The beer is bitter as it goes down his throat, settling hotly in his stomach and the alcohol going straight to his head. He’s never been able to tolerate wine very well and he is drinking strong beer.   
  
“Bravo,” Arthur says, impressed, as Merlin slams the empty tankard on the table. “I didn’t know you had it in you, you fancy man.”   
  
“Merlin, I think you shouldn’t drink so much,” Gwen tells him hesitantly, turning her back completely on Lancelot. Merlin gives her a cool smile, a first, feeling protective of his sister. “Don’t worry, I’ll be able to handle myself,” he says and hails the waitress for another drink.   
  
Arthur slaps him on the back, jerking Merlin forward a bit. “Good man. Genevieve, another drink for the gentleman here!”   
  
Merlin is well into his fourth drink when a girl boldly asks him to dance and Merlin grins idiotically up at her, unsteadily getting to his feet and leaving his jacket on his chair. He pops open the first two buttons of his shirt, drenched with sweat, and follows after the girl. He feels nothing for her as she dances around him, smiling provocatively, and Merlin gets lost in the heat of the other bodies pressing close, twirling and jumping to the beat of the music. Merlin laughs at himself when he nearly stumbles to the floor, hands flailing in the air, and suddenly Arthur is there, holding him steady with Merlin’s cheek pressed to his broad chest.   
  
The man smells of smoke and alcohol and sweat; the scent should be unpleasant but Merlin can’t help himself, he breathes it in.   
  
“You’re fucking drunk,” Arthur tells him with a concerned grin. “I think you had one too many, Merlin.”   
  
“Noooo,” he draws out giddily and tugs on Arthur’s hand until they’re almost flushed together, faces very close. Merlin can see how Arthur’s are really extraordinarily blue, the lashes long and pale, and pupils dilating at Merlin’s proximity. “No, not by far.”   
  
  


  
Morgana is eating noisily, her utensils clanking loudly with the plate, and when she slams her teacup on the saucer, Merlin’s had enough.  
  
“Would you please be quiet?” he asks through gritted teeth, squinting against the painfully bright morning. His face is pale, shadows under his eyes, and he rubs two fingers on his temple.   
  
“Why should I?” she retorts scornfully, gaze pitiless. “It’s not as if I snuck out to party with the third class passengers and am now spectacularly hungover. You’re lucky Aunt Nimueh doesn’t know, believing your sorry excuse of feeling seasick. I still might tell her the truth,” Morgana taunts cruelly and the anger comes to him, real and blazing, because he doesn’t know what he’s done to deserve Morgana’s attacks.   
  
“I don’t know what’s gotten into you, Morgana,” Merlin grits out, fingers tightening around his fork. “But don’t you dare treat me this way when I’ve done nothing wrong!”  
  
Morgana sneers at him and it goes directly to Merlin’s heart. “You were with Arthur Pendragon last night, weren’t you? That’s reason enough.”   
  
Merlin throws his fork on the table and stands up, the action causing his head to spin. He waits until it passes to glare down at his sister. “Yes, I was, because you can’t tell me who I befriend or not. It’s none of your business, in fact.”   
  
“But you want to be more than his friend, don’t you?” Morgana mocks, smiling nastily. “Let me clear it up for you, my dear brother: he will never want the same thing because you’re a man.”   
  
“Shut up!” Merlin cries, hurt showing on his face. “You’ve…I can’t believe you, Morgana. You’re always angry, always trying to find something wrong that you don’t realise what you are losing. You treat Gwen badly because she cares enough for you to worry and you push me away when I want to help with whatever is troubling you. I’ve given up my life for you and before you can use that against me, I still don’t regret it because you are my sister and I love you. But right now, I can’t bear to be around you.”   
  
  


  
  
Merlin isn’t sure what he’s doing. His fist tightens around the robe and underneath it, he is entirely naked. The thought has his face colouring, a bright crimson on his neck, up to his cheeks and the tips of his ears. Merlin can barely hear anything beyond the fierce pounding of his heart, a furious thump thump thump thump that threatens to break through his chest.   
  
He’s still unsure why he volunteered to do this in the first place. What had he been thinking, offering his body as Arthur’s model? He’d been upset by his morning with Morgana and had bumped into Arthur on the bridge. They started talking, Arthur mocking the bad mood out of him, and Merlin had remembered the wonderful sketches in Arthur’s book.  
  
And so here they are and it’s improper and outrageous and tortuous to have Arthur’s eyes on him for as long as it takes to draw Merlin’s sharp, awkward angles. He really must be an idiot.   
  
“Are you ready?” Arthur calls from the other room and Merlin tries to calm himself, breathing deeply. It’s nothing, he tells himself firmly. You’re simply having your portrait done. Yes. In the nude. In front of Arthur and this will be nothing to him but who’s really –   
  
It takes a few more seconds before Merlin finally finds the courage to step away from the mirror and with a last nod at his red-faced reflection, he moves towards the door, stops, scrunches his face, and then pushes it open.   
  
The lights are low, casting dusky shadows against the scarlet walls, and the couch is set up in the middle with one armchair in front of it where Arthur is already seated, busily setting up his pencils and flipping through his book.   
  
“Merlin,” Arthur calls again, louder, and Merlin clears his throat and says, “Erm, I’m ready,” and Arthur twists sideways to look at him.   
  
Merlin clears his throat again; conscious of the way Arthur is staring at him. “Where do you want me?”   
  
Arthur blinks and stands up abruptly, nearly toppling over the armchair. Arthur catches his pencils as they roll off and places them back on top of his book. “Uh, yeah, over there on the couch. Just…make yourself comfortable.”   
  
Merlin sits himself down on the couch, fiddling with his robe, and pulls it off before he can balk. The silk hits the floor and Arthur looks up and this time there is no mistaking the way his eyes widens, roving up and down Merlin’s bared body. Merlin fights the blush that threatens to colour everywhere and lifts his legs up the couch. He isn’t sure how to position himself at first, shifting restlessly around, before he finally decides on a simple pose, stretched out on the couch with his torso and face tilted slightly towards Arthur.   
  
“Is this acceptable?” Merlin asks.   
  
Arthur coughs and busies himself with flipping through his book. “That’s…good, thanks.”   
  
Merlin resists the urge to cover himself and meets Arthur’s eyes. “What do I do now?”   
  
“Now, you don’t move until I tell you to,” Arthur smirks. “Not even a twitch.”   
  
Arthur picks up his pencil and stares intently at Merlin for a long moment, before lowering his hand on the clear sheet of paper. There is only silence between them after, Merlin trying to stay still as Arthur draws, looking up at him as often as he looks down on his sketch.   
  
Merlin’s skin tingles wherever Arthur’s eyes look, as if his gaze is tangible, touching Merlin in ways that he doesn’t even dare imagine.   
  
He closes his eyes to calm himself and Arthur says, “Don’t move,” and Merlin opens them again with a sheepish smile. Arthur glares at him.   
  
After a while, Merlin’s muscles begin to scream in protest at the position and he longs to move, to stretch and pop his bones. Arthur drags his pencil smoothly on the page, glancing at Merlin’s legs, and finally stops.   
  
“It’s done,” Arthur announced and Merlin gratefully sits up the couch, stretching upwards before remembering that he’s still unclothed. He hastily grabs the robe and slips it on, tightly securing the belt. Arthur pads over to him with his book and Merlin takes a look at…himself, captured perfectly, his long, lean lines draped lazily on the couch, eyes half-lidded and full of desire. Merlin stills, realising he’d been staring at Arthur in that way, that Arthur had seen it, must have understood what it meant as he drew it on paper.   
  
“What do you think?” Arthur asks behind him, voice low. “You had an…interesting look on your face, yeah?”   
  
“Weariness,” Merlin answers with a forced chuckle, stepping away from the other man. “You know, from staying in that position for so long.”   
  
“Really,” the blond says and he’s directly behind Merlin this time, head bent so Merlin can see his bright hair in his periphery. “I thought it was more of a – ”  
  
“Merlin, are you in here?” Morgana’s voice calls out, the door opening and closing, forcing Arthur to take a step back. Merlin panics a little, unprepared to meet Morgana after their fight earlier, and he’s wearing nothing but a bathrobe no less, with Arthur only a few feet away. “I want to talk to you about this morning. The things I said…I was out of line and – ”  
  
She enters the sitting room, Gwen trailing after her, and then stops, staring in horror at Merlin and Arthur.   
  
Merlin swallows, looking at her then at Gwen. “Erm, we were just…”  
  
“Hello again,” Arthur greets calmly, “It’s good to see you when you’re not hysterical.”   
  
Morgana’s expression tightens and she marches to where Merlin is, snatching the book away. “I can’t believe you brought him here! And why are you dressed like that?” Her eyes drop on the open page and her jaw drops, unladylike, at what she sees. “This is – you’re not wearing any – you’re - Merlin!”  
  
Gwen peeks over Morgana’s shoulder and her face bursts into flames, quickly averting her gaze.   
  
Merlin grabs the book back and closes it, handing it to Arthur. “It’s only a sketch, Morgana. Don’t you see how talented he is? I’m sure if you would sponsor him…”   
  
“Merlin,” Arthur snaps in protest at the same time Morgana says, “I would never!”   
  
Arthur glares at Morgana. “I think I should leave; I know when I’m unwelcomed.”   
  
“Yes, you should,” Morgana tells him, eyes narrowed. “And never come back.”   
  
“Morgana!”   
  
“It’s all right,” Arthur tells Merlin as he picks up his pencils and coat. He passes by Gwen, who gives him an uncertain smile, and pulls open the door. Merlin hurries after him, giving his sister a dirty look, and says, “I’m sorry about my sister, she’s not herself lately.”   
  
Arthur shrugs indifferently. “I said don’t worry about it.”   
  
“I’ll…I’ll still see you tomorrow?”   
  
Arthur looks at Merlin and then relaxes, grin returning to his face. “I’ll be invading your first class deck again, of that you can be sure.”   
  
  


  
  
“Your gall amazes me.”   
  
Arthur looks up to find Morgana standing in front of him, an umbrella propped on one shoulder to shield her from the sun. Her face is set in the shade but Arthur can still make out the twist of her lips.   
  
“I’m not here for you,” Arthur says, feeling irritated by her presence. He doesn’t understand what she has against him. At first he’d thought she was a kind woman, the way she treated Gwen, but it seems as if he’s wrong. She and Gwen have been fighting for the past few days and now she’s clashing with her brother.   
  
“Of course you aren’t,” Morgana says almost pleasantly. “I know you’re interested in my brother – ” his head whips up to glare at her – “and frankly, he is too. But there’s something you don’t know about him.”   
  
Arthur fingers tighten around his sketchbook, the one where Merlin’s drawing is, the one he’s been staring at ever since last night. “I don’t know what you’re playing at, Morgana – ”  
  
Morgana laughs. “Oh, but I’m certain you’ll want to hear this.”   
  
  


  
He can’t find Arthur anywhere. Merlin has circled the deck twice, looking for the man, and even went down to his cabin and the diningrooms searching for him. Lancelot hasn’t seen him, and so has Arthur’s other friend, Gawain.   
  
Morgana has been suspiciously pleasant to him all night, asking his forgiveness over the way she’s acted recently, and Merlin can’t help but doubt her sincerity. There’s a gleam in her eye that never bodes well for Merlin.   
  
He manages to escape halfway through dinner once more, playing the sympathies of the other ladies in their table into forcing his Aunt to excuse him. He doesn’t look back at Morgana as he makes his way deeper into the ship, thinking about Arthur and why the man hadn’t shown up as they’d planned.   
  
Fortunately, he doesn’t have to look very far this time as he spots Arthur leaving one of the dininrooms, the gaiety and fast music trailing after him.   
  
“Arthur, Arthur!” Merlin calls with a wave, jogging up to the man. “Where have you been? I’ve been looking everywhere – ”  
  
The man turns to him, eyes dark and livid, and Merlin takes an involuntarily step back in surprise.   
  
“What are you doing here?” Arthur asks harshly, sneering at him. “Shouldn’t you be with your high class friends laughing at me?”   
  
“What?” Merlin says. “No, of course not! Why would you think that?”   
  
“Come off it, Merlin, you can’t fool me any longer. You’re a better actress than your sister, you bastard.”   
  
Merlin recoils at the word, confusion and anger twisting in his chest, and lets the anger win out. “You’re not making sense, Arthur! Why the hell are you calling me a bastard, you arse!”   
  
“Because I know all about Freya,” Arthur fires back and it is the last thing Merlin expects to hear. “And how you’re engaged to be married once you arrive in America. God, I was a fool to even entertain the thought of…”   
  
Merlin reels at the man’s revelation and his mind instantly goes back to Morgana’s odd behaviour, how nice she’s been, like it used to be, and Merlin feels a strangling sense of betrayal that cuts him to the quick.   
  
“Why am I even talking to you?” Arthur mutters and turns away.   
  
Merlin makes a noise and makes a grab for his shoulder, only for Arthur to push him against the wall with a snarl.   
  
“Please, let me explain,” Merlin pleads.   
  
“It’s all clear to me,” Arthur tells him and pulls back. “Goodbye, Merlin.”   
  
Merlin stubbornly refuses to let go, yanking on Arthur’s sleeve. “You have to listen to me,” he says, licking his lips anxiously, holding on tight as Arthur tries to free his arm. “Our mother died two years ago, leaving us with nothing, after she sold everything to try and pay off my father’s debts. He died when I was a boy and ever since, my mother has slaved to raise Morgana and me in some semblance of wealth. But when…when she died, we had nothing left, and her sister – my Aunt Nimueh – was forced to take us in.”   
  
Arthur stops struggling and Merlin’s hand falls away, getting lost in his bitter memories.   
  
“Aunt Nimueh resented my mother, feeling that she brought shame into the family by marrying beneath her and ending up as with her wealth gone and with two children to feed. But our mother was the best person and we loved her very much. We didn’t want to live with Aunt Nimueh but we hardly had any choice,” Merlin says self-deprecatingly, lifting his shoulders in a shrug. “She and Morgana clashed all of the time, being too similar and too proud to admit it, and one day Aunt Nimueh decided to marry her off to Valiant.”   
  
Arthur turns to him slightly. “What a poncy name.”   
  
Merlin gives a weak smile and goes on. “Valiant is a bastard, to put it simply, and he’s always wanted my sister. Gwen and I hate the man – as much as Gwen can hate, that is – and tried finding ways to stop the wedding. We failed miserably until…until Freya came.” He sneaks a glance of Arthur and finds him looking away, glaring at the wall. Despite that, warmth blooms in Merlin’s chest because it could only mean – “Freya and her family were visiting from America and she was the kind of respectable girl with an impressive dowry that Aunt Nimueh approved of. So we made a deal: I would marry Freya and she would turn down Valiant.”  
  
Arthur stares at him now. “So, you only used this girl?”   
  
“No,” Merlin protests, hands fisting. “I…I thought I liked her, even if I knew that my, my interests lay elsewhere. But then we came to this ship and I – I – ” His face turns red and he looks away.   
  
Arthur doesn’t say anything for a while and Merlin is too afraid to look at him, see the rejection on Arthur’s face.   
  
“You still lied to me,” Arthur finally speaks. Merlin’s shoulder droops and he fights the urge to cry. He can’t believe he thought that – “And to have Morgana tell me the truth…”   
  
Merlin keeps his eyes on the floor, shaking his head. “I…I’m sorry. I wanted to tell you but I was afraid.”   
  
“Why?” Arthur asks, stepping nearer.   
  
He’s going to make me say it, Merlin thinks despairingly and rakes a hand through his hair, edgy and coiled tighter than a spring. “Because I…I like – ”  
  
Arthur forces his head and Merlin gets a glimpse of blue eyes before Arthur kisses him.  
  
  


  
  
Merlin laughs breathlessly as Arthur leads him through the maze of corridors, their hands knotted between them, tight as a promise. Merlin is parts frustrated and ready to fly out of his own skin, arousal like he’s never felt before roaring in his belly. This is his fantasy coming to life – no, never even dared to dream this could happen to him. Not now, considering who he is, who he wants, how it’s more than social class that Merlin could care less about coming between them.   
  
But they’ve stopped toeing the line, stepping over it completely as Arthur pushes him against the wall by the stairs where everyone can see and it’s filthy and dangerous and the stupidest, most wonderful thing to happen in Merlin’s life. He laughs even more into Arthur’s wet, open mouth, drunk from the feel and taste of him, his broad chest and rough, worker hands dragging across Merlin’s collarbones.   
  
“We’ll – ” Merlin gasps when Arthur thrusts their hips together, flustered and embarrassed and hot, never imagining – had been afraid to think of such a thing – it could feel like this and the fact that it is Arthur, bright, golden Arthur, makes it better beyond compare. “We’ll be found out here.”   
  
“Don’t care,” is the answer, muffled by Merlin’s neck, and instead of fear it sends wild gratification curling in his groin. Arthur pulls back after an obscene suck on Merlin’s skin and pins him with his dark, dilated gaze. Arthur’s mouth is red, the colour of sin, making Merlin shudder. “Let them see, Merlin, see how much I want you. How we won’t be denied by the world.”   
  
And Merlin helplessly falls into him, fastening their mouths together with the same urgency that is making his heart throb like the engines fueling life into this brilliant ship.   
  
Arthur breaks the kiss, panting harshly, and says in a hoarse voice, “But you’re right; not here. I don’t want anyone to disturb us.”   
  
His fingers find Merlin’s again, painfully easy, and pulls him down the stairs. They run until it’s all a blur, feet pounding on the carpeted floor, and the mental map he’s constructed of the ship for the past few days crumbles because he has no idea where he is, where Arthur is bringing him. But he goes without complaint, trusting this man more than anything, anyone even, and Arthur rewards him with stolen kisses that steal the last of his breath from his deprived lungs, as if he knows the depth of Merlin’s emotions for him isn’t enough to contain them anymore.   
  
It’s disconcerting and frightening, how much he loves Arthur. He’s willing to throw everything away for this man he’s just met a few days ago (a virtual stranger to anyone) and yet it feels inevitable, as if he’s been waiting for this to happen the moment Merlin stepped foot into the Titanic. Destiny, maybe.   
  
Unquestionably.   
  
That line of thought reminds him so much of Morgana that he sobers for a brief moment, remembering his sister’s devastated face. He aches for her suddenly with an intensity that nearly rivals his desire to have Arthur. Merlin wants Morgana to feel the way he does, free and careless and happier than he can remember, with someone to look at her the same way Arthur looks at him, all fire and possessiveness.   
  
(What Gwen could have been if she had not met Lancelot)   
  
They burst through a door and into darkness. Merlin blinks until his eyes adjust to the gloom, moves his head this way and that to look at the wide ceiling, the enormous space, the automobiles all neatly lined up in the cargo hold.   
  
“Here, right here,” Arthur mutters and backs Merlin against the side of a car with a gentle shove. He sucks in a bottom lip, biting into it softly, then harder.  
  
“This better not become a habit,” Merlin tells him in an unsteady voice, unsteady because he’s talking of a possible future between them. “I, I bruise easily, you know. Oh, oh, Arthur.”   
  
“God, Merlin,” the other man whispers into his mouth, sharing breath for breath. “Merlin, you’re so – ”  
  
Merlin clasps Arthur’s shoulders, digs his fingers into the material of his shirt and the skin underneath. “Please,” he softly begs. “Arthur.”   
  
“Yes,” Arthur replies desperately, hands moving all over him, tugging, unbuttoning. “Yes, Merlin.”  
  
  


  
  
It is too fast and slow at the same time. Merlin cannot catch up to the onslaught of sensations that singe his nerves, pumps his blood hotly through his veins. He closes his eyes and loses himself to –  
  
Hands, calluses and all, mapping the sharp planes of his naked chest, up his arms and ghosting over his clavicles, and then lower to his nipples and oh, they are surprisingly sensitive, especially to the –  
  
Mouth that follows, dragging a hot, wet tongue over the small nubs and staying there, the most maddening touch that has Merlin moaning, “Arthur, god, Arthur, please,” and wanting to move away, then press closer, before the other man finally settles over him in that cramped space, the leather hot against his even hotter, sweaty back –  
  
The passion between them burns, roars, is wild and frenzied and mirrored by the way Merlin suckles hungrily on Arthur’s own nipple, drawing it into his mouth and pushing the flat of his tongue over it. Arthur buries a hand in Merlin’s hair, groaning and shifting their hips together. The hot line of his cock brushes against Merlin’s and sends a delicious bolt up his spine. Arthur tugs at his hair and Merlin releases the tiny nub, tilting his head back to let the blond lick into his mouth. They are breathing roughly, loud pants that raise the temperature in the small space they are in – the back of someone’s Renault – and Merlin cannot help but smile into the kiss.   
  
Arthur breaks off and stares down at him, fringe sweaty on his forehead. “What is so funny?” he asks in a rough voice, hands cupping Merlin’s face and peppering kisses over his eyes and cheeks.   
  
“This, us,” Merlin answers breathlessly, hands moving over the broad, flat planes that make up Arthur’s gorgeous body. The feel of him, strong and firm and real against his palms, makes his breath catch. “Doing this in the back of a stranger’s car,” he adds at the tail end of a moan, biting his lip when Arthur nibbles on his earlobe, blowing warm air on it.   
  
“Makes it exciting.” Arthur noses his way down Merlin’s neck, gently biting at the tendons stretched taut as Merlin angles his head even further. “Dangerous. Forbidden.”   
  
“As if this isn’t forbidden enough,” Merlin whispers as he thrusts his hips up, headily rubbing against Arthur’s thigh. Their eyes meet, the blue swallowed by pupils, and Arthur’s swollen lips curve in a wicked grin. “That’s right, Merlin,” he purrs before his tongue slides down the ladder of Merlin’s ribs. “If anyone catches us – ”  
  
Merlin makes a needy sound and sinks his fingernails into the blond’s sweaty skin. “Arthur.”   
  
A hand drops to Merlin’s lap, brushing against his cock as the fingers fumble on the button. “You’re going to love this,” Arthur promises hotly into the middle of his chest, all teeth and wet kisses, his hand trembling as it tries to undo Merlin’s trousers, making Merlin’s heart twist fiercely. “It’s going to hurt, hurt so good that you won’t be able to think straight or, or feel anything else except for my cock, my, me inside of you, taking everything.”   
  
“Yes,” Merlin hisses, arching his back and heels kicking at the side of the door, “I want, I want…” He swallows, licks his lips, and meets Arthur’s eyes. “Fuck, I want you, now, everything, anything.”   
  
Arthur groans, body coiled as if ready for a fight, and finally Merlin’s button comes undone. His trousers are pulled roughly away and Merlin kicks his feet out of the fabric, acutely aware that he’s naked under Arthur, and that soon Arthur will be just as undressed.   
  
The thought has him arching up only to be stopped by a palm on the middle of his chest, Arthur quietly staring down at him. His eyes sweep over the long, pale expanse of Merlin’s body, hunched in the limited space but completely bare for Arthur.   
  
“Beautiful,” Arthur rasps in wonder as he swipes a thumb across Merlin’s bitten lower lip. “I never thought I’d find…” he trails off, distracted by the peek of tongue as Merlin licks his lips, touching the corner of the blond’s finger.   
  
“Arthur,” Merlin says.   
  
“Yes,” and Arthur lowers his head to kiss him again, deep and hungry, and Merlin impatiently yanks on the other man’s trousers. It comes off easily and he throws them away, instantly distracted by Arthur’s erection, thick and red, and Merlin licks his lips as he carefully ghosts his fingers on the head. Arthur groans, hips tilting up, and Merlin’s eyes flicker up and then back on the other man’s cock, his hand closing clumsily over the length. His pulse stutters at the feel of the hot, silky skin, heavy and full in his fist.   
  
“Merlin,” Arthur says needily, one hand falling to close around Merlin’s wrist, forcing him to start moving. Arthur gasps and touches their foreheads together. “God, that’s so good.”   
  
Merlin’s face burn at the words and he takes a deep breath, slowly bringing his hand up and down, thumb swiping on the head to gather moisture, making the downward sweep slick and easy. His own erection throbs against his belly and his hips twitch, longing for something he cannot name. Merlin pushes into Arthur’s body, cock skidding across Arthur’s hip, and they both moan at the contact. Arthur bats Merlin’s hand away and clutches his hips, bringing them together again and again, rocking into each other with rising urgency. Merlin loses himself to the pleasure curling in his belly, almost painful but wonderful all the same, eyes heavy as he watches the strain on Arthur’s face, the muscles bunching in his arms as he thrusts against Merlin.   
  
Merlin wants more.   
  
“Please,” he says hoarsely, “I want…I want you to…”   
  
Arthur pulls back to search his face, pupils so dilated that they’ve swallowed the blue, and he gives a jerky nod. “All right, I…all right.”   
  
For a moment, Arthur looks lost and Merlin’s heart twists with too much emotion. “Here,” he says and drags Arthur’s fingers to his lips, tongue swirling around the calloused digits. He doesn’t know what he’s doing, going along with what he wants and what he wants to happen. Arthur stares intently as Merlin laves at his fingers until they’re wet, dripping, and Arthur hooks them briefly on Merlin’s teeth, the blond lowering his head to kiss the corner of Merlin’s mouth.   
  
He pulls his wet fingers away and props one of Merlin’s legs over his shoulder, hand dragging over Merlin’s cock and then lower. Merlin’s other leg falls away, digging into the back of the passenger seat, and throws his head back when Arthur carefully prods at his opening, circling the hole with a nail before slowly slipping inside.   
  
It burns, god how it burns, but Merlin relishes the pain and wants more of it, rough, fast, letting Arthur overwhelm his senses until he’s sore and full and complete. Arthur wriggles the finger inside, loosening him, and Merlin chokes back a cry.   
  
“Are you…am I hurting you?”   
  
Merlin shakes his head, breathless and dizzy. “N-No, please, Arthur, more, more.”   
  
Arthur swallows, unable to tear his gaze from Merlin’s face, and adds another finger in, curling them around and thrusting deeper with each movement. Merlin groans, raising his hips, and a moment later another finger pushes into him. Merlin pants at the pain, hands coming to cover his face, and Arthur’s movements falter. But at that moment his fingers brush against something that sends a bolt of fire through Merlin, making him yelp at the unexpected rush.   
  
“Did that feel good?”   
  
“Yes,” Merlin groans and pushes down on Arthur’s fingers, biting his lip at the pain but seeking more. “God, yes.”   
  
Arthur is breathing fast as he thrusts his fingers in and out, earnestly this time, hitting that spot that has fireworks bursting behind Merlin’s closed eyes. He tries to keep in his cries, hips tilting to suck Arthur deeper, moving mindlessly until it’s not enough, fingers aren’t enough, and Merlin opens his eyes to meet Arthur’s frenzied gaze. Arthur grins unsteadily at him and lets go of Merlin’s hip, bringing the hand up to lick at it a few times, before curling it around himself and stroking. “This is going to hurt like hell,” Arthur warns tightly, hand falling away to lift Merlin’s hips higher, positioning himself where his fingers still are. “You’re not, you’re still too dry and – ”  
  
“I don’t care,” Merlin says. “I want you.”   
  
Arthur laughs, pulling his fingers out, holding Merlin more securely as he digs his knees into the seat for balance. “God, you’re an idiot,” he tells him and slowly pushes inside.   
  
The stretch is excruciating and Merlin bites on his tongue to keep from shouting. Arthur touches his face, thumb stroking one rosy cheek as he sinks into Merlin inch by agonising inch, and Merlin doesn’t breathe until Arthur is fully cradled in him, their hips pressed flush. Arthur is panting harshly as he kisses Merlin, quieting his soft whimpers, and they stay that way for long moments. Merlin’s eyes are closed as the pain gradually ebbs away, leaving behind the sense of fullness he’s been craving, and he relishes the feel of Arthur in him, all around him. Arthur starts moving, tiny thrusts to test the waters, and the desire roars anew, stealing Merlin’s breath away as he rakes his fingers down Arthur’s sweaty back. They’re quieter now, nothing but shuddering breaths and the ‘uh, uh, uh, uh’ in tempo with every thrust, going deeper, becoming harder until Merlin’s eyes rolls back in his head at the pleasure.   
  
“Merlin,” Arthur says in a drawn-out moan, “my god, Merlin.”   
  
Something is building up deep in Merlin’s belly, tight and hot and unbearably good, and Merlin starts to panic because he’s never felt this before, never so strong and intense, and he can’t breathe, can’t see, can’t hear, can only feel as it coils even more before finally bursting, dragging out the air until there is none left in his lungs, toes curling, hand slapping against the window, being swept away by the glorious rush. Arthur gasps as Merlin tightens around him and his thrusts stutter, becomes rough, and his fingers dig bruises into the other man’s hips as he comes, eyes clenched shut and expression broken. They gulp in desperate lungful of air, Arthur pinning Merlin under him, hearts beating madly in their chests.   
  
After a while, Arthur shakily tilts Merlin’s head up and kisses him, whisper-soft and easy, trembling, and Merlin winds his fingers into his lover’s wet hair, holding on.   
  



	3. Chapter 3

The air is gratifyingly cool when they stumble out on deck, still flushed and winded, and Arthur boldly kisses Merlin out in the open. Merlin laughs and deepens it for a moment before pushing the other man away, looking around, and Arthur holds him close.   
  
“Stop, we’ll be seen,” Merlin protests half-heartedly.   
  
“Didn’t I say that I don’t care?” Arthur teases, eyes reckless, and Merlin laughs again, says, “You are such an arse,” and he’s never laughed so much in his life. He is warm and delicious tired, wanting to be wherever Arthur is.   
  
Arthur nuzzles his neck. “Are you going back to your room?”   
  
Merlin wants to say no. “Yes,” he says instead. “Morgana will worry.”   
  
“Damn that woman,” Arthur asks and finally pulls back with a soft kiss to his neck. “All right, off you go.”   
  
“You’re not even going to accompany me?”   
  
A grin quirks Arthur’s lips. “You really are a girl, aren’t you?”   
  
Merlin huffs indignantly. “I assure you that I’m not a girl. I think you know that by now.”   
  
Arthur looks at him slyly, enjoying the flush that climbs up Merlin’s neck. “Oh yes, I do,” he murmurs huskily, “and I very much enjoyed finding it out.”   
  
“You’re horrible,” Merlin says with a blinding smile. “Maybe my sister is right about you.”   
  
They grin idiotically at each other for a few more seconds before Merlin coughs. “Erm, I really have to get going. If my Aunt realises I’m gone – ”  
  
“Yeah,” Arthur nods and brings him closer, brushing their noses. “Goodnight, then.”  
  
Merlin smiles softly. “Goodnight, Arthur.”   
  
They kiss gently, nothing but a careful brushing of lips, and Merlin reluctantly pulls back only to be yanked forward again, Arthur kissing him deeper. Merlin instantly winds his arms around the man’s neck, opening his mouth wider, and they become lost in each other’s taste, in the warmth they’ve only recently discovered, and a shiver goes up Merlin’s spine –   
  
“Iceberg up ahead!” someone yells frantically and they pull apart, stunned, as the person shouts again, “Iceberg up ahead!”   
  
Arthur runs to the side of the ship and Merlin follows, jaw slack as he sees the gigantic object floating in the water. It is so close that he would be able to touch it in a little while.   
  
“Jesus,” Arthur breathes.   
  
“Do you think we’ll hit it?” Merlin asks anxiously, eying Arthur from the corner of his eye.   
  
“We might,” Arthur answers grimly, “if they don’t turn the ship in time.”   
  
He is suddenly cold. Merlin’s eyes widen and he clutches Arthur’s arm. “My god, if she does hit it…”  
  
“Don’t even think it,” Arthur snaps.   
  
They watch as the ship slowly turns to the side, trying to avoid a collision, and Merlin holds his breath as the iceberg is right there –  
  
Arthur grabs the back of his shirt and pulls him from the edge, yelling, “Get back!”   
  
A shudder forces its way through the ship as the side of the hull drags against the ice, pieces falling off and rolling on the deck. Merlin stares in disbelief as they pass right next to the massive iceberg. Arthur curses and kicks at a stray block, the ice skidding across the floor. Up ahead, people are shouting and running back into the ship, some of them leaning over the side to glimpse the damage. Merlin’s mouth is dry and he licks his lips. The night has taken on an unexpected turn for the worse and he can’t even begin to imagine what might happen from now on.   
  
Arthur’s touch startles him and he whips around, eyes wide. “You need to go and get your family,” Arthur tells him. “Bring them up as quickly as possible.”   
  
Merlin stares incomprehensibly at him. “You don’t think…”  
  
“I don’t know,” Arthur says grimly.   
  
Merlin gives a nervous chuckle. “There’s no way, surely; the Titanic is unsinkable!”   
  
“Just go,” Arthur says. “I’ll go get Lancelot and Gawain and we’ll meet back up here as soon as possible.”   
  
“But – ”  
  
Hands gently push him towards the door. “Merlin, you saw the size of that thing. It’s better to be safe now go.”   
  
Merlin reluctantly ducks inside and runs back to the first class cabins. People are coming out of their rooms, faces bemused, and Merlin sprints past them. He doesn’t want to believe that anything might happen to the ship but his heart is beating anxiously, unable to help but think what if? Arthur is right; even if it’s nothing, it is better if his family is above deck and ready. Morgana and Gwen are outside their suite, wearing twin looks of curiosity.  
  
“What on earth is going on?” Morgana demands as Merlin comes to a stop in front of them, gasping for breath. “Where have you been, Merlin?”   
  
“Something’s happened,” Merlin says, looking at them urgently.   
  
“Of course something’s happened,” Morgana retorts nastily. “But what exactly happened?”   
  
Merlin chooses to ignore his sister’s temper. “The ship hit an iceberg and I think we should head out where it’s safe.”   
  
Gwen covers her mouth with a hand, eyes wide, and Morgana pales. “Don’t be ridiculous, Merlin,” she voices skeptically, trying to appear calm. “You know that the Titanic is unsinkable! You shouldn’t panic, I’m certain it is merely an insignificant little scratch.”   
  
“No, it’s more than that,” Merlin insists, reaching for his sister. “Arthur and I saw it. Where’s Aunt Nimueh? We need to leave right now.”   
  
Morgana yanks her arm away, expression unforgiving. “You were with that man? You said you wouldn’t go after him anymore!”   
  
Frustration creeps into Merlin’s voice and he spreads out his arms. “Morgana, please, just let it go. You should grab your coats, it’s freezing outside, and – ”  
  
“No, I won’t go with you unless you promise me you won’t seek him out!”   
  
“Lady Morgana!” Gwen cries in shock, staring at the other woman as if she’s never seen her before.   
  
Morgana ignores Gwen and fixes her eyes on Merlin, hands fisted at her sides. She lifts her chin. “You choose, Merlin.”   
  
Merlin tugs at his hair, agitated, unable to believe what he’s hearing. Morgana has been acting strangely these past few days but this, this is beyond anything than Merlin has imagined. “I don’t understand,” he says helplessly. “Why do you hate him so much?”   
  
The honest confusion in Merlin’s voice doesn’t soften Morgana’s stance, only serves to harden her countenance further. “Gwen, leave us.”   
  
Gwen is about to protest when Merlin nods gently at her, says, “Go on, Gwen, why don’t you fetch Aunt Nimueh and Sophia. Make sure they bring their coats with them.”   
  
She wavers for a bit before obeying, giving a quick curtsy, before disappearing into the suite. There is no one else in the hallway.   
  
“I remember him,” Morgana begins without prompting, staring at the wall above Merlin’s shoulder. “I dreamt of him once, before, when I was too young and the nightmares were only beginning. I dreamt of him with you, here.” She glances at the incredulous look on Merlin’s face. “But it didn’t mean anything and I ultimately forgot about it until a few days ago, when I saw him. Before that I, I’ve been dreaming of this ship, of you drowning in the ocean, and it’s going to happen, Merlin, if you go with him so please, I beg you, don’t go with him. I can’t lose you.”   
  
Merlin is shaking his head, holding up his hand to keep Morgana away. “That’s…that’s impossible, Morgana. Dreams aren’t real and – ”  
  
Morgana throws herself at him, clutching the lapels of his jacket tightly. “I saw you two,” she breathes out in a shaky voice. “In the cargo hold, holding each other, in the back of someone’s Renault – ”  
  
Merlin jerks back, stunned, and stares at his sister. “You…”   
  
Tears fill up Morgana’s eyes. “I know, I know you love him but you will die, Merlin. Please, swear to me you won’t go find him, please.”   
  
Thoughts race through Merlin’s head, one after another, and he doesn’t know what to believe anymore. It’s impossible that Morgana has been seeing the future through her nightmares as she’s always said, always claimed, but how could she have known where he and Arthur were earlier? Merlin looks down at her beseeching expression, eyes glittering and moist. He opens and closes his mouth a few times, unsure of what to do, and he places his hands on Morgana’s shoulders and push her away.   
  
“Merlin?” she asks, sounding afraid. Her haughty mask is gone and it’s heartbreaking to see her like this. “Morgana,” he starts and brushes away a tear as it streaks down one cheek. “All right, I won’t. I…won’t. Go get your coat, I’ll wait right here.”   
  
Morgana closes her eyes for a long time before finally releasing her grip on her brother, composes herself, and then slips past the door. Merlin leans against the wall, staring blankly at the ceiling. Blood rushes in his ears and his heart constricts. He knows he’s lying, and maybe Morgana even knows too, because that is one promise Merlin cannot make. He tries calming his frenzied thoughts, pushing back Morgana’s startling revelation to the back of his mind. He won’t think of it yet, can’t, because it’s too fantastic to even consider.   
  
The door opens and Gwen leads Aunt Nimueh into the hallway, wrapped in her favourite blue cloak, followed by Morgana and Sophia.   
  
“What is the meaning of this?” Nimueh demands in the same fashion as her niece, glaring at Merlin. “Why did you drag me out of my sleep? Merlin, explain yourself.”   
  
“The ship hit a iceberg,” Merlin says bluntly, spying a steward knocking on doors on the other side of the hall. “It’s best if we stay on deck until we know more about what’s happening.”  
  
“An iceberg? But the Titanic is unsinkable.”   
  
Merlin is getting tired of hearing that. “Please, Aunt, if there’s nothing wrong then we’ll return to our rooms and you can yell at me later. Just follow me for now.”   
  
Nimueh eyes him for a moment before nodding. “Fine, Merlin, if you insist. Lead the way.”   
  
  


  
  
Already the deck is a flurry of activity, the crew running to and fro, lifting the lifeboats and turning them over. A bright orange glare fills up the dark sky and Merlin stares up at the flare as it soars upwards, heart thudding. Most of the first class passengers are milling about in confusion, talking in hushed, nervous tones.   
  
“This is all nonsense,” Nimueh states as she shivers in the cold. “Nothing is wrong and – ”  
  
But she is silenced when the First Officer begins to speak. “Ladies and Gentlemen, may I have your attention. Because of some unforeseen circumstances, we will be boarding the lifeboats and the women and children will go first. I implore everyone to keep calm, thank you.”   
  
After that is all a blur for Merlin. He can remember the anxious looks on Nimueh’s and Morgana’s faces, Sophia clinging to Gwen, but the rest is a haze as he looks around the deck for a glimpse of Arthur. More and more people are pouring outside, wandering in confusion, voices all melding together in a cacophony. The first class passengers are the ones primarily ushered on the lifeboats and Nimueh complains all the while as the officers help her into one. Morgana is next and Merlin prods her forward, still glancing around, and _there,_ he finally spots him. Arthur is pushing through the crowd, helping a little girl that stumbles and handing her over to her grateful mother, and Merlin stops.   
  
Morgana turns to him and sees Arthur as well. Her hand clutches his sleeve. “Merlin, you promised me.”   
  
He looks back at her with wide eyes. “I…”   
  
It’s then that Gwen steps in between them, her expression blazing. “Morgana, that’s enough. You can’t make Merlin do this; make him choose because it is unfair. He loves Arthur and I don’t know what will happen but you have to trust him.”   
  
“What is going on?” Nimueh asks loudly, staring at the three of them.   
  
Morgana glares at the sleeve she’s clutching before snatching her hand away. She turns around without a word and accepts the help of one of the crew as she steps into the lifeboat. Merlin stares after her, heart constricting, but already he’s turning away.   
  
“Merlin,” Gwen calls and looks directly into his eyes. “I’ll watch over her even if she doesn’t me to. I trust you to come back. And…” For the first time, worry shines in Gwen’s eyes and she bites her lower lip. “And if you see Lancelot…”   
  
He hugs her tightly, wishing Morgana had given him the chance to do the same. “I’ll make sure he’s safe.” Merlin steps a step back and another, as Gwen wipes at her eyes, and Nimueh calls out frantically, “Merlin? Merlin! Where are you going?”   
  
Merlin turns away and disappears into the crowd, pushing and sidestepping as the people begin to push at each other, yelling and crying to be put on the lifeboats. Merlin shouts, “Arthur! Arthur!” and tries to keep the blond head in his sight. He nearly loses his balance twice and finally breaks free of the clamouring crowd.   
  
A firm hand grips his arm and spins him around and Merlin catches sight of Arthur’s face before he is crushed in the other man’s embrace.   
  
“I’ve been looking for you,” Arthur bites out with worry clear in his voice.   
  
“I’m sorry; I was making sure that Morgana and Aunt Nimueh got into one of the lifeboats first.”   
  
Arthur lets out a breath and releases him, conscious of the other passengers everywhere. Merlin misses his touch instantly. “And Gwen?” Arthur asks.  
  
“She’s with them,” Merlin assures him. “She asked me to find Lancelot for her.”   
  
“I couldn’t find him and Gawain,” Arthur explains with an aggravated sigh. “There are still passengers below; I was just going down there to find him. Why don’t you go find a lifeboat and I’ll follow you after.”   
  
Merlin scowls at him. “Don’t be an arse, Pendragon. I’m coming with you.”   
  
“No,” Arthur instantly turns down.   
  
“Yes,” Merlin persists, glaring.   
  
They glare at each for a moment before Arthur lets out a disbelieving huff. “Fine, god, you’re an idiot. Let’s go.”  
  
They make their way back into the ship, fighting their way against the tide of people going the opposite direction, and they hurry down the endless stairs until they reach the third class level. Arthur leads them to his room, Merlin following closely behind, and Arthur opens the door only to find it empty.   
  
“Fuck, where could they be?” Arthur cursed, kicking the door close with a bang.   
  
Merlin chews on his lower lip. “Perhaps we missed them on the way down, maybe they’re already outside. We should head back.”   
  
The floor under their feet gives a noticeable shudder and Merlin holds on to Arthur for balance. The Titanic gives a straining cry that has them wincing.   
  
“We really should head back,” Merlin repeats and Arthur blows his breath out, nodding.   
  
They retrace their steps and climb up the stairs once more only to find it blocked halfway up the ship, the gate lowered and locked.   
  
“Hey!” Arthur yells, rattling the gate. “Hey, let us out!”   
  
But there’s no one around. Merlin thinks furiously and grabs Arthur’s hand, pulling him away. “Come on, we can cut through the diningroom on the other side. I don’t think they’ve locked it.”   
  
The lights flicker repeatedly and Merlin keeps his thoughts away from the water outside the ship, on either side of him. He tries not to imagine what could happen at any moment, the Titanic ripping in half to drown them all.   
  
It feels like eternity until they reach the first class diningroom, empty of people, the tables already set up perfectly for the next day’s use. Arthur grabs Merlin’s hand.   
  
The ship begins to tilt, so subtly that they don't notice. Arthur drags Merlin across the empty ballroom, fingers securely around the other man’s wrist. They say nothing between them but now and then Arthur’s grip tightens in reassurance. The wine glass on a nearby table catches Merlin’s attention and he stops abruptly, yanking Arthur back, and the blond turns to him with a scowl.   
  
“What’s the matter?” Arthur asks sharply. Merlin says nothing but he pales and Arthur follows the line of his sight. The wine glass is teetering to one side and they watch it tip over the edge and shatter, the sound echoing in their chests. They look around them as more glasses, plates, utensils, and vases roll off the tables, dragging the tablecloth with them.   
  
Merlin starts feeling it too, the downward pull of gravity, and Arthur looks a little wild-eyed as he jerks them forward, breaking into a run as they jump over broken glass and sliding chairs while everything breaks around them. The chandelier sways above their heads.   
  
“The ship, it’s,” Merlin stutters as the blond kicks the door open, “we’re sinking.”   
  
“Shut up,” Arthur says and they burst out on another hallway, finding a staircase that isn’t blocked. They climb the stairs three at a time, panting from exertion, and finally burst out on deck. It is pandemonium as people shove and yell to get to the lifeboats. A little boy is clutching his mother’s dress as she tries pushing to the front of the chaos, shouting desperately, and her voice is only one of many, all melting together into one loud despairing cry. Merlin looks away, heart lodged in his throat, and sees the hardness in Arthur’s eyes.   
  
“They should be filling those boats with more people,” Arthur bites out, shoulders drawn up tight, and his grip tightens to the point of pain. “They’ll never get all of us out of this fucking ship.”   
  
Merlin shakes his head helplessly. “They won’t do it. I don’t know…we won’t make it.”   
  
Arthur whirls to face him, expression unyielding. “We will make it, all right? Don’t you dare think that way, Merlin, or I’ll hit you.”   
  
“God, you’re a prat,” Merlin says with a strangled laugh, warmth creeping to push back some of the fear.   
  
Suddenly, the Titanic gives a keening cry that has everyone falling silent until only the waves and groaning of metal can be heard. One of the funnels collapses and it crushes part of the deck and people on the water. Arthur and Merlin share a look before they both start moving to the back of the ship, urging people to follow them, and the ship tilts even more. Merlin’s breath comes in short pants from the slanting climb and the fear choking him, clutching Arthur’s hand so tightly and uncaring that anyone might see but nobody notices as they frantically scramble upward, grabbing on anything that might support them as the stern steadily rises out of the water.   
  
“Oh god, oh my god,” Merlin mutters as he grips on a pole nearby and hauls Arthur forward. Several people are jumping off the ship into the icy waters, some falling as they lose balance, and Merlin’s heart is beating so painfully, thinking of his sister, Gwen, and how everything is crumbling around him, and he thinks of Arthur and what will happen if they don’t make it, or if something will happen to the other man and –   
  
Arthur seizes him close and glares furiously at him. “I said don’t, Merlin. We have to keep going.”   
  
Merlin swallows and they do, struggling to reach the back of the ship even as it climbs higher and higher, and they both slip once or twice, the other holding on as tightly as possible. Merlin’s muscles are aching, begging for rest, but he forces himself to move, move, move, and be deaf to the screams ripping through the air, louder than the crash of falling objects to water, the grate and groan of the ship breaking in half. The lights flicker on and off a few times before darkness settles. Only the moon overhead, and the occasional burst of the emergency flares, provides light.   
  
“Come on, come on,” Arthur says, features twisted with tight panic, tugging continuously on both of Merlin’s hands and they fight their way to the very end of the ship, clutching one of the masts as the ship breaks apart between the last two funnels and the bow goes under the surface, dragging along everything nearby. Merlin manages to curl his fingers around the railings, clinging with one hand as he helps the women next to him up to her feet. The bow rights itself for a brief second, giving the people time to find anything to grab, and Arthur tells Merlin to, “climb over to the other side, hurry,” just as the floating half begins to incline once more. They shout for the others to do the same, dragging them over to the other side, and when there is no more room, when people are slipping and sliding as their grips weaken, when there are those who purposely push people away just to find a safe spot, Arthur moves and settles heavily on Merlin’s back, arms on either side of him, face buried into Merlin’s neck as he yells urgently to be heard over the deafening noise, “Just hold on, all right? Just…hold on as fucking tightly as you can.”   
  
Merlin glances over his shoulder and can barely see the cluster of lifeboats in the distance, watching mercilessly, and even as anger seizes him at the fact that they aren’t doing anything to help, Merlin is grateful because his family is safe, far away from this all too real nightmare. The Titanic, or what is left of her, rises up and up until she is completely vertical, and Merlin and Arthur watch with wide, horrified eyes as the hull begins to sink into the thrashing water, greedily and surely swallowing up every inch of ship.   
  
The man next to them is praying desperately, calling out to God for help, and others echo his pleas. “We’ll be dragged into the water and drown!” Merlin yells to Arthur as the water is halfway to the edge of the hull. “We need to jump and swim away as far as possible!”   
  
Arthur jerks his head at him and entangles their hands again, a cold, secure grip, and they watch for another moment as the water swirls ever closer. “Ready?” Arthur asks and Merlin nods, takes a deep breath, before they let go of the rails and plunge into the water.   
  
The breath is forced out of Merlin’s lungs as the shock of the freezing water hits him, like thousands of needles piercing his skin into his chest. He flails in the water, hitting other people nearby, and that’s when he realises that Arthur is gone. Panic crashes into him and he frantically looks around, kicking the water to keep him afloat, and yelling “Arthur!” repeatedly at the top of his lungs. “Oh god, Arthur!” Merlin calls hoarsely, voice taking a hysterical edge, and somebody unexpectedly pushes him underwater, a body trying to climb over his. Merlin gurgles as he breaks the surface, gulping in air and water, before he’s forced down again. He kicks at the person, fighting to break free as his lungs scream for oxygen, desperately wanting Arthur, when the body over him disappears and arms clamp around his shoulders and haul him up.   
  
“Fuck, y-you’re all right, Merlin, M-Merlin,” Arthur is saying over and over, dripping wet and teeth chattering, expression wrecked as he holds Merlin above water. The blond kisses him and it’s cold and fearful and painful all at once. Merlin clings to Arthur’s hands, swallowing back his tears, and he asks, “W-What are w-we going to d-do?”   
  
Arthur’s head whips around and he propels them away from the writhing bodies in the water. Already, the chill is entering their bodies, bringing fatigue and weighing them down. Their movements turn sluggish, their wet hair drying and icing over, and Arthur finally spots something flat and floating up ahead. He pulls Merlin with him and reaches for the object with one hand. It’s a wide door that has somehow come loose from the ship and Merlin wearily lugs his body up on it, shivering violently when the water on his skin dries.   
  
He inches back to keep the door steady as Arthur grips the edge to pull himself up but it still sinks into the water, nearly upending Merlin. Merlin stares wide-eyed at him and Arthur sucks in a deep breath.   
  
“All r-right,” Arthur says calmly. “All right, you just stay there and I’ll hold on to you.”   
  
“No, but y-you’ll, you have to be out of t-the w-water. I’ll just…s-stay there w-with you…”  
  
“Don’t be a i-idiot,” Arthur bites out without heat, staring at Merlin with an expression that shuts him up. “As I s-said, you stay t-there.”   
  
“B-But – ” Merlin tries again.   
  
Arthur glares at him, mouth in a firm line, and Merlin reluctantly swallows his protests. He creeps across the door – wide enough for both of them, god – and clutches one of Arthur’s hands that are holding on to the edge.   
  
Merlin stares fiercely at him. “D-Don’t let go.”   
  
“…I won’t.”   
  
  


  
  
Gradually, everything goes quiet. The cries turn into whimpers, then into pathetic splashes in the distance, until there is nothing. Merlin shuts his eyes against the silence and forces himself not to think about the hundreds of people freezing to death, or are dead, and of Arthur’s hand so, so very cold – no, Arthur is still breathing, staring at Merlin unwaveringly. Merlin can see the ice in Arthur’s golden hair, eyebrows, on his cheeks, frosting over in the extreme temperature; and he counts the other man’s every breath, matching his own to the slow, steady rhythm.   
  
They’re floating in the black water, in the middle of nowhere, and beneath them the Titanic has sunk to the depths. That great ship brought down by a fateful encounter with an iceberg.   
  
“My s-sister saw t-this,” Merlin says faintly. He doesn’t need to yell to be heard. “Bits and p-pieces, I think, but she knew a d-disaster was going to happen. That’s w-why she d-doesn’t like you.”   
  
“I c-caused this?” Arthur asks dryly, tone like dry gravel, and Merlin is grateful he doesn’t ask questions.   
  
“No, she t-thinks y-you’re the reason I’m h-here.” Merlin meets Arthur’s eyes and in the moonlight, they are luminous. “B-But I’m here because I w-want to b-be, even floating in t-this freezing ocean w-with you.”   
  
Arthur looks away for a brief moment and then back at him, surprisingly tender. “Then y-you’re an idiot,” he says fondly. “I should have known b-better than to fall in l-love with an i-idiot like y-you.”   
  
Merlin closes his eyes, smiling sadly up at the stars.   
  
  


  
  
“It’s cold,” Merlin whispers and every now and then, a shiver goes through his exhausted body. “Arthur?”   
  
It takes a while before he can hear the soft ‘hmmmm’ from the other man. Merlin’s throat closes up and he lets out a frosty breath. Tears gather at the corner of his eyes and his fingers grip even tighter to Arthur’s stiff ones. He thinks of the night they had earlier, the way they laughed into each other’s mouths before turning into hungry sounds, touching and moving and learning, thinking they had the rest of their lives to do it over and over.   
  
A sob catches in his throat and he forces it down. Any moment now the other lifeboats will come to rescue them, or perhaps a passing ship. They’ll be fine, and together, and they will be happy.   
  
“M-Merlin,” Arthur says and he chooses not to think of how weak the other man’s voice is, how Arthur’s grip has lost its intent but remains tight as the hand muscles freeze in that position. “M-Merlin,” he repeats, eyes half-closed and unfocused. “P-Promise me s-something.”   
  
He wants to say anything, Arthur but knows he won’t be able to do it. So he stays silent and waits for Arthur to finish.   
  
Arthur shudders jerkily, lips blue. “When y-you get o-out of h-here – ”  
  
“No, n-no, n-no,” Merlin instantly says and Arthur shushes him, forcing his arm to stretch and grasp Merlin’s chin. “You will,” the blond insists, “and w-when you d-do, I w-want you to, to m-marry that girl and l-live for me. Yeah? All right, M-Merlin?”   
  
“I w-won’t,” he swears, “I c-can’t. Please, A-Arthur, don’t say, don’t make me, n-no, w-we’ll be fine, y-you’ll see.”   
  
It’s only the look in Arthur’s eyes that keeps Merlin from breaking apart. “B-But if w-we won’t be, t-then you h-have to s-survive this. F-Forget me and…and…I’m not sorry,” Arthur suddenly says fiercely, sounding almost angry, and his fingers brush against the tears drying on Merlin’s cheeks. “I’m not sorry.”   
  
“So am I,” Merlin tells him and turns his face just so to kiss the chilled fingertips. He can barely get the words at, unable to believe he is forced to say this. He thinks he can hear the last thing breaking and it’s his heart.   
  
“We h-have to s-stay a-awake,” Merlin says. “W-We c-can’t fall a-asleep until t-they come for u-us.” He reaches over and lightly slaps Arthur, causing the other man to blink. “Hey, d-don’t close y-your eyes.”  
  
An indeterminable amount of time passes and Merlin grows colder. A thick fog settles in his head until it becomes difficult to think, to remember to keep his eyes open and breathe. He’s lost the sensation on his arms and legs; he can barely feel Arthur’s hand anymore.   
  
“T-They’re going to c-come,” he tells Arthur, forcing his eyes to stare up at the sky. “S-Surely they w-will.”   
  
There’s no answer. Merlin licks his cracked lips and doesn’t look.  
  
In the distance, he can hear the quiet splash of water against the door’s edges. He’s curled on top of it like a comma, needing warmth but finding none, not even from the hold he has on Arthur’s still hand.   
  
Merlin is tired. He wants to sleep next to Arthur, to go back to a few hours ago when he was happy, the happiest he’s ever been, and his eyes flutter close, drifting.   
  
Something jerks him awake and Merlin gasps in a deep icy breath. He blinks at the sky before turning to the side. He remains still, fingers convulsing around Arthur’s, and there, there, he can hear the creak and splash of oars in the water. Relief so deep rushes through him and Merlin lets out a cry. He rolls on his stomach and towards Arthur, the door dipping slightly at the shift of weight.   
  
Arthur’s eyes are closed and Merlin reaches out with his other hand to nudge his shoulder. “A-Arthur, you p-prat, I t-told you not t-to fall a-asleep. W-Wake up, t-they’re here; d-didn’t I t-tell you they w-would c-come? Arthur, A-Arthur.”   
  
Arthur says nothing, doesn’t move, doesn’t open his eyes. Merlin’s fingers dig into the man’s shoulders. “A-Arthur, this i-isn’t funny. W-Wake up, w-wake up!”   
  
Nothing.   
  
Merlin’s voice trembles and he draws Arthur closer, touching the side of his face, his eyes, his stiff hair. “Arthur?”  
  
The man bobs gently in the water and his chest is very, very still. Grief wells up deep from Merlin’s chest, drowning him under its force. He starts to pant, shaking his head in disbelief because no, it’s impossible, no, Arthur isn’t – he’s still – he will –   
  
“Is anyone out there?” a voice calls out.  
  
Merlin tries to compose himself but fails, chest heaving as he alternates between tugging his hand away and holding on.   
  
“Arthur, Arthur,” he says brokenly and presses their lips together. “I can’t – ”  
  
“Hello! Is anyone out there?”   
  
Merlin cries as he finally pulls himself free and he clutches Arthur’s fist in both hands, kisses the pale knuckles, and then lets go. “A-Arthur,” he says again, keeping the name locked in his heart, and unable to look away as Arthur sinks into the black water.   
  
  


  
  
Morgana tightly grips the blanket around her shoulders, huddled in the corner of the lifeboat and away from Gwen. She wants to sit next to her, bury her face in the unbound tangles around Gwen’s shoulders. But Morgana is stubborn, and she is still hurting, so she keeps her distance.   
  
“We have to go back for them!” Gwen cries out tearfully, pointing a finger to the direction of where the ship used to be. “We just can’t leave them there to die!”   
  
Her head is bowed down, trying not to listen to the cries and pleas of the people drowning in the bitter water. Morgana trembles but not from the cold. She tries thinking of her brother but it’s too hard. She closes her eyes and prays for something.   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Merlin is young again. Morgana is startled to see her brother without the wrinkles on his face, the stoop of his spine from the many years he had to live through. The little lines around his eyes and mouth are gone, laugh lines as Morgana has always wanted to believe them to be, but the truth is that they were from the frowns that Merlin often wore.   
  
But the Merlin that Morgana sees is the one with the bright, unencumbered smile that she has dreadfully missed.   
  
Someone passes by her and she looks around, heart thudding when she sees the ocean stretching out endlessly before her, as beautiful as ever, and the quiet rumble of the Titanic under her feet. Morgana stares at her hands, young and smooth again, and she clutches the folds of her velvet gown.   
  
Merlin doesn’t see her as he makes his way into the ship. Morgana follows after him, eyes wide as she sees the crew working diligently to keep everything perfect. Merlin goes through the doors, smile widening until his eyes crinkle at the corners, dimples showing, and Morgana’s breath catches at the sheer joy on his face.   
  
They reach the grand staircase and Morgana pauses to admire the intricate banister, the winged statue in the middle and the great chandelier glinting over her head. Merlin doesn’t stop, keeps moving forward as he climbs the stairs.   
  
Morgana’s eyes move on ahead and her eyes find him immediately. He is handsome, Morgana has always privately thought, but time has dimmed her memory and made her forget the gold of his hair, his blue eyes, and his strong, perfect face. Arthur is facing the clock, hands in his pockets, and when Merlin reaches the top of the stairs, Arthur turns and his expression mirrors the one Merlin wears. It’s a look she sees often on Gwen’s and Lancelot’s faces when they visit her, or when they meet up with Merlin’s family for dinner. It hurts her still, even now, because she still loves Gwen. But now she loves Lancelot, too, for making Gwen so happy.   
  
But it’s Merlin’s joy that makes her legs weak, fills up her eyes with tears as she watches them embrace where everyone can see and smile at them. This may be nothing more than wishful thinking, or a dream different to the nightmares she used to have as a young woman, or this might be happening after all. Whatever the truth, Morgana is glad for them because deep in her heart, she’s always wanted them to be happy.  
  
Arthur looks past Merlin’s shoulders and directly at her. His brow quirks upward, arms still possessively around her brother, and Morgana smiles.   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
The tears quickly dry on her cheeks and Morgana brushes them away, watching as the drops crystallise on her fingertips. She turns to where Gwen sits, her face haunted and terrified. Morgana slides across the seat to settle next to Gwen, who startles at her sudden presence, eyes wide and hopeful. Morgana reaches out and clutches her hand tightly, briefly glimpsing the relief on her friend’s face as she turns to the first officer overseeing their lifeboat.   
  
“We have to go back for them,” Morgana says in a steady voice. “We can still save them. Those are people out there, someone’s child, someone’s husband, someone’s friend. We need to go back.”   
  
The officer anxiously stares at the distance, to the weakening cries, and his face falls. “All right, all right,” he mutters to himself before saying in a louder voice, “we need to transfer some of you to the other lifeboats.”   
  
Gwen sags in relief and Morgana holds on to her hand even tighter. “He’s fine,” Morgana whispers to her, both of them knowing who she’s speaking about. A twinge goes through Morgana’s chest at the knowledge given to her, at the look on Gwen’s face. Somewhere out there, Lancelot is safe and waiting.   
  
And somewhere, Merlin is waiting.   
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> feedback is always good but be gentle, i wrote this 10 years ago haha


End file.
